Fabulous, bitch
by creamtea-with-a-madman
Summary: id-ee-uht. noun. fool, jerk, ass, plank, charlie, berk, prick, wally, prat, plonker, moron, geek, twit, chump, imbecile, cretin, oaf, simpleton, airhead, dimwit, dipstick, dickhead, gonzo, schmuck, dork, nitwit, blockhead, divvy, pillock, halfwit, nincompoop, dweeb, putz, thicko, dumb-ass. The very definition of Sherlock Holmes. That was until John met the celebrity himself. AU
1. Chapter 1: bacon and eggs

**Disclaimer: I don't own, tadaaa!**

**Hello everybody and thank you for clicking on this little piece of fanfiction. :) I wrote this _very _late in the day, so that may be an explanation for its general weirdness. I hope you will have a wonderful time reading it and wil restrain from throwing tomatos at me from the very beginning. Or cyber-tomatos. Since I am tired and not really responsible for my actions anymore, I should probably stop writing this. **

**Please enjoy or enjoy or enjoy, there are three different options you can choose from. Gasp! But seriously, enjoy! :P**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was everywhere, literally everywhere. Be it on the poster of 13 year-old girls; on mugs; television; the Sherlockian feels helpline; toilet paper; or only thrown into the dust bin, his perfect face scrunched up on the daily newspaper, it didn't matter. No household could escape him and even John, if he was to be true to himself, caught himself staring at Sherlock's pictures once too often.

Nonetheless John hated celebrities, or rather what they did to the fellow population. Everybody talked about them and no second passed without their mention. "Celebrity-this" and "celebrity-that", it was exhausting. However, the worst thing about them was that everyone else seemed to fall for them, even ignoring the fact that most of them were outstandingly ignorant, arrogant and atrociously selfish as well as antisocial. All of this and more made up the very creature of Sherlock Holmes.

The one with the magic gift, his alien-like beauty and the grace and elegance which shined through in Sherlock Holmes's every move. At times, it wasn't easy to resist the man. But John did, with all his heart. He didn't want to be foolish like everyone else, especially not like his sister who went mad for the ebony-haired actor, singer and violinist even though her sexuality stood in her way. But in some aspects it wasn't a difficult task to restrain from loving the asexual douche.

He didn't ever greet his fans and sometimes he thought that he might as well ignore them. Sherlock never gave interviews, but when the rare occurrence came every few years, he just sat there, completely still, caught up in his mind and possibly drugs. Not saying a word.

Nevertheless, his fans loved him. Furthermore: their love and devotion was only strengthened by his odd behaviour. He could do whatever he wanted; his fans adored him for it. Sherlock was rare, unique, something else.

Apart from a fine pair of blue, striking eyes, which looked like ice piercing into the depths of your soul even you don't know; his perfectly angled cheekbones; his HAIR; the way it glittered in the sun and his chilling, soft and stunning voice, there was nothing to love, was there?

Most people even went as far as thinking that poor Sherlock was _lonely_, in need of love, because he didn't have a real childhood. That he had been forced to practise all day long. Hahaha, yeah. How can one be lonely when one has so many screaming fans and was born into an already highly-valued and rich family?

The doctor shook his head, this was the longest time he had ever thought about something as insignificant as Sherlock Holmes. He shouldn't waste his time further on this topic and rather spend his time drinking tea in the one place he was sure of being free of Sherlock Holmes and all the stupidity he brought with him. The little café right across the street, an oasis of peace and quiet.

And it should stay that way, that is if you didn't want to be murdered by a grumpy doctor, who had had a very long and tiring day. Besides John knew a lot of methods to do so, he wasn't a medical man for nothing.

He would literally murder anyone if that person came in between him and his well deserved bacon sandwich. Bacon. BACON. No one separated John from his bacon! Even if it were... for Sherlock Holmes? _The_ Sherlock Holmes?

John spilled out his tea on his pants.

* * *

Sherlock sighed, looking at the bearded doctor with antipathy. Why did there always have to be fanatic fans, no matter where Sherlock went? Sherlock couldn't go anywhere without meeting one, not even the toilet. A memory he had tried very hard to delete.

"Yes, yes. I know, it is me. Sherlock Holmes, pleasure to meet you... Now, could I please just pass through and-" Sherlock said, his eye-roll hidden but evident behind his eyes.

"But-you-you're- oh, my, go-" John mumbled, rather than replied.

"Yes, I know, wow, that's Sherlock Holmes! Not a surprise anymore when you see that face every day in the mirror. And just to make sure that we're stating all obvious facts, you have just spilled a considerably large amount of tea all over yourself. Mind if you clean that up? Makes you look rather pale." Sherlock said, imitating his designer in the last part of the phrase.

"But you, you-!" John laughed, his face wrinkling in a nice way. What, had Sherlock Holmes just caught himself of thinking of the word 'nice'? He shivered.

"What is it?" Sherlock said and then huffed at the void of nothingness that was John's reply. Fans were only ever good for nothing.

Name badge: Doctor John Watson, St. Barts.

"Your-" John tried to stammer out, but failed miserably. Too preoccupied with laughing.

"Oh, my fake moustache? Very mature, Doctor Watson, I have to say." Sherlock cleared his throat. "Even I have to take precautions and wouldn't want to be recognised all day long. You see, your hand gets kind of lazy after signing 300 autographs. An hour."

John looked at Sherlock in a puzzled fashion. What did the man want from him? Why was he even here? "Erm... Interesting ... I guess...?"

"Aren't you going to ask me for an autograph?"

"Actually? No."

"What?"

"I'm not a big fan of yours, thank you very much." John said, getting increasingly interesting to Sherlock.

"Then what are you doing here, talking to me for no apparent reason?"

"Oh, just this and that. If I am honest, I don't know either." John smirked.

"Aha." Sherlock replied. Well. Interesting enough. "I'm off then."

"Whoa, Mister, you can do that when we're finished."

"Finished with what?" Sherlock said, fearing the worst.

"You could help me with my pants..." John said his eyebrows suddenly knitting together "... not meant in the gay way, though."

Sherlock restrained from a short: "I wouldn't mind." Which he didn't know where it came from either. This was the longest he had thought about somebody else in a nice way since... ever. It must feel really good to like somebody else. Like genuinely. Maybe he should give it a try? "Okay. What is there to do?"

"Firstly: find me a new pair of pants, since the tea stains are basically your fault. And secondly: Find somewhere I can put them on." John grinned. "That's it."

"If I have to." Sherlock sighed. "Shouldn't be too difficult, I have my money right here in my wallet –" Sherlock exclaimed, fishing for money in his way too large pockets. "-Not. Shit."

* * *

"Do you really think taking the tube to the mall was such a good idea?" John hissed under his breath.

"Everything's better than taking a cabbie, I swear to god. They always want to chat you up and when they notice who you are, they sometimes stop their cabs, continue chatting and then you try to calculate their way of survival, because if one of you is going to survive this, it is going to be you."

"A bit not good then?" John asked.

"A bit, yeah." Sherlock answered, trying to concentrate fully on John and simultaneously cover up bits of his face, so that he wouldn't be spotted.

Thank heavens; he had given up the moustache this time. It may be a good cleaverage, but that was as far as it went. Moustaches just didn't fit the man, who could usually wear a onesie and still look good in it.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"They're coming." He said, a heartbreaking look on his face. "The fangirls."

Giggling. Pointing out nerdy accessories. Laughing. And then screaming. They had finally found Sherlock Holmes. And they were going to use their chance.


	2. Chapter 2: BACON

**Disclaimer: I don't own, have a cup of tea on that. Or rather some whiskey for me, thanks. :/**

**Hello, fellow fanfiction-addicts, here we go with another chapter to ease your mind a bit, eh? Hehe, sorry I'm just being weird again, don't mind me. ;)Have fun reading this and holy guacamole such a nice response already merely for the first chapter! Thank you so very, very much, I love you! :P  
**

* * *

"Oh my god, is it really...YOU? SHERLOCK HOLMES?" The fangirl with the brightest pink lips screamed and then excitedly wobbled into his direction.

Sherlock only sighed in response.

"Can I... touch you?" She exclaimed, a row of other fans building up behind her. "I'm your biggest fan."

"They keep on saying that." Sherlock expressed with his low baritone rumbling through the whole section of the underground. "And I keep on saying: Fuck off!"

She merely laughed. "You're such a charmer."

Sherlock turned into John's direction. "See, I don't even have to try." He shook his head. "The world is such a strange and confusing place, no one ever understands you."

The whole underground sighed in empathy and the row just grew bigger and bigger behind her. "You're so poetic." She said, the others nodding in agreement. Their faces of understanding and blind devotion one of the most pathetic things he had ever seen. And Sherlock had seen Mycroft.

"Erm... what's your name?" Sherlock asked her, his smile as faked as Anderson's girlfriend.

"Molly, hello." She beamed up at him. "Can I touch you now?"

Sherlock killed himself in his head. "Under one condition."

"And that is?" She whispered, all excitement.

"Get me and John there out of here and I will do anything you want. Literally anything." He said, his glare seductive and his smile likewise.

"Oh my god, did you just offer-?" John asked, completely bewildered.

"I'd do anything to get out of here." Sherlock murmured.

Molly's eyes were ripped wide open. "Really? Anything I wanted?"

"Yes." Sherlock gulped. It was quite bitter.

"Guys, guys. Let us through, right now!" Her throat dried in anticipation and she could only just suppress a squeal.

Was this reality?

* * *

The finally left the wagon, loud protests sounding through the entire underground station. They should be happy; Sherlock had lowered himself down to signing a few autographs, more than he would usually do in a week. If he wasn't forced otherwise.

Molly giggled unbelievingly shrill, aching Sherlock's precious ears. "Would you mind shutting up for a second, please?"

She bobbed her head, but still a few incoherent sounds of pleasure left her mouth.

John wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry; how was it so impossibly easy for Sherlock Holmes to manipulate others, even without making any sort of effort?

He should just leave the two at it, he didn't want to be seen near Sherlock anyway and the tall, dark and handsome bloke was a bit trying at times. If he just ran off now, he surely wouldn't notice, would he?

John's pants weren't the most important thing in the universe. Sherlock could surely do without replacing them.

"Don't you dare." Sherlock muttered under his breath. "If you leave me now, I will personally make you into bacon stripes, are we clear on that?"

"At least then I would die pleasantly." John giggled.

"Oh, shut up."

* * *

"So, this is the way through to my apartment-Wait, where are you going?" Molly blurted out. "Do you want to do it her-?"

Sherlock laughed, honestly this time. "Naturally not, naive. Did you really think I would do something as stupid as that?" Sherlock huffed. "Under the good looks, there is a lot of brain. And I have brain enough not to take you, thank you very much."

"What?"

"Oh, and also thanks for the money!" Sherlock yelled before taking off, grabbing John with him. "La'ers!"

"WHAT?"

"I said goodbye, meathead!" Sherlock laughed freely. John joined in, although feeling antisocial. This was just such a surreal situation. Running off, having stolen what? 200 pounds and that with Sherlock Holmes. _The _Sherlock Holmes.

"Try phoning me, I'll pay you back." Sherlock shouted.

"I still love you!" She shouted back, looking desperate even from the considerable distance they were now in. What had Sherlock Holmes done to her life?

* * *

They were at their final destination at last, John panted. This had been heaven and hell at once. Heavenly funny, hellishly long track to run.

"Sher-Sherlock?"

"Yes, Doctor Watson, what is it?" Sherlock asked completely unfazed.

"How can you not lie on the floor, dying? Like me?"

"What are you talking about? If I am correct then you are neither lying on the floor nor dying at the moment."

John sighed, Sherlock was helpless. "Doesn't matter."

They entered the mall, bright colours attacking their eyes everywhere they looked. A small nail polish booth which was literally a big nail polish bottle stood just across from them, looking as inviting as I do at present. (General information: I look like a vile soul-eating daemon from hell right now)

"Want to have your fingers manicured?" John joked, pointing.

"Sure." Sherlock said, dead serious.

"You are kidding me."

"Nope. But first, I am going to have to fetch something to cover up my face." Sherlock grinned maniacally.

"Mind much if I take that?" He asked a random standing around person and then stole her sunhat.

"Oi, Mister!"

"Thank you!" Sherlock exclaimed, throwing a fair sum of money into her direction like a ballerina.

Sherlock Holmes had gone completely mad. But John, somehow, he enjoyed it, every second of it. Odd how a downright ass could be so weirdly wonderful from one second to the other.

"So, that's better!" He laughed. "Don't I look fantastic?"

"Always." John shook his head. Somehow, this was so much fun.

"Don't wanna be late for my manicure." Sherlock said, his eyebrows dancing in amusement. "Care to join me?"

"With pleasure."


	3. Chapter 3: the colours of the rainbow

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, apart from happiness. :) **

**Hello wonderful people, who have decided to carry on reading this story! (Whyever...) It's pretty early in the morning right now and I just can't sleep, because I have coincidentally drank black tea and am hyperactive. Argh... Hence another chapter, which can keep up with the general weirdness of this story. :P **

**Please read and review, I love everyone of my fellow followers, reviewers and favouriters! :D Seriously, you mean so much to me! Do stay awesome and keep up with your amazingness in general! **

**Will try to sleep now. :) See ya!**

**(As if that's gonna happen.)**

* * *

With their nails polished in all the colours of the brainbow, Sherlock and John left the little booth, still snickering when standing on the opposite of the entrance of the jeans-shop.

John felt incredibly gay with his nails like that, but that feeling took second place, as John was overwhelmed by happy emotions. He hadn't felt so free and extraordinarily stupid in quite a while.

"Doctor Watson, mind if we go there first?" Sherlock asked, pointing at a specs-shop right next to it.

"Erm, okay? My pants can wait a few seconds, I guess." John replied, clearing his throat afterwards. "You can call me John, by the way." He grinned.

"Oh, thank you, very generous of you, Doct- I mean, John." Sherlock offered a smile.

"Always a delight, Mr._ Holmes_." John said.

"Oh, John you are being silly, of course you can call me Sherlock. If I read correctly between the lines?"

"Good guess."

"I never guess." Sherlock huffed. "And I never allow people to call me by my first name either. All my fans do though; they sometimes even go as far as calling me 'Sherly'." Sherlock's face scrunched up like he had bitten into a lemon by the mention.

"Well, _Sherly_, let's-"

"You wouldn't even dare." Sherlock stared threateningly at John, but then let it be and grinned. "And yes, even though you are being incredibly ridiculous, I will officially authorize you to call me Sherlock now."

"Wow, what an honour."

* * *

"What do you think about this one?" Sherlock asked, putting on a round pair of glasses. "Looking a bit Harry-Potter-ish, eh?"

John giggled. "Better than looking like Neville."

"Shouldn't buy them though, Daniel Radcliffe broke approximately 160 of them while filming, doesn't seem to be of such a high quality."Sherlock said, putting them back where they belonged.

"Shame, I always had a thing for Harry." John smiled. "You don't look too bad in them, you sure?"

"Yup. Maybe... those?" Sherlock put on a rather square pair. "Oh my, with these I look like the 10th doctor, not good."

"Really? Wouldn't have something against that either." John smiled, thinking of the hair of said doctor. Yum.

"Ah, yes! This is it." Sherlock exclaimed, his eyes now covered by black glasses.

"Sunglasses? But then no one will be able to see your eyes!" John said in a cheerless tone.

"My intention exactly." Sherlock said, glaring at the doctor. "Let's go shopping!"

* * *

The employee looked at them in an annoyed fashion, irritated by Sherlock and John's weird behaviour. Both of them had acted childishly ever since they had entered the shop. At first they had tried out the little slide, originally intended for the children, shushing away the crying ones.

Afterwards they had tried out a few skirts and had made a few rounds around the shop with them, everything tolerable behaviour if only the skirts had been a little longer. She, the co-director of this H&N boutique, was not going to bare the sight of red pants any longer. There were children in here, for god's sake!

"Guys, guys, please, can you-?" She asked, blowing a string of hair out of her face irritatedly.

"What, is she actually talking to us?" Sherlock asked.

"Us?"

"What could we have possibly done to upset her, would you know?"

"Not the slightest idea." John shook his head.

"Could you please leave this shop, you are disturbing our fellow customers." She replied- her face a cold stone.

"Look, have we offended her?" John asked, grinning like a fool. "Let's make up for that, shall we?"

"Yes, we shall!" Sherlock said, suddenly ripping his sunglasses and his sunhat of his body, his curls seeing the sunlight again, much to John's pleasure. And then he began to sing.

"I came in like a wreeeeeecking baaall, I never hit so haaaard in loooove!"

"Please, can you just stop-?!"

"All I wanted was to breaaaaak your waaaaalls, all you ever did was wr-e-e-e-e-eck meeee!"

John had his hysterics and couldn't stop laughing for a full minute, before finally calming down and then patting the traumatized woman on the shoulder. "Don't take it by heart; Sherlock Holmes doesn't actually want to break your walls."

"What- Sherlock- as in Sherlock Holmes?" She giggled maniacally. "Really?"

"Yes, the very one at your service." Sherlock replied, then taking John's reassuring hands off her shoulder. "We better go now."

"What? How? What?"

"Yes, we better. I don't wanna be here when she starts throwing clothes at us." John said, not letting his grip loosen around Sherlock's hand. "Let's!"

"Don't forget the skirts!" Sherlock shouted, seeking the exit.

And so it was that they ran, packed with a shit-load of skirts and dresses, trying to escape the by now furious employees and also struggling to get free of the very frustrated shoppers standing in the way. They even tripped over a kid. Fun.

* * *

"Oh my god, Sherlock, this is the most ridiculous thing I have _ever_ done." John laughed, leaning on the toilet wall for support. They had locked themselves up in the toilet so that no one would be able to find them. They would be two heads shorter if they did.

Sherlock laughed in response. "Me too, even though, in retrospective, throwing a cake at Myc's face came pretty close. "

"Who's Myc'?"

"Unimportant. My brother." Sherlock sighed. "I would offer you to wear the skirt myself later on, but as I have left my cover behind, I would only evoke too much attention. People memorize me, you know. And it would make for bloody awful news in the press, so-"

"Thank you very much, you're being very helpful." John mocked.

"Ugh, John, stop being such a douche about it. No one knows you around here anyway, do they?"

"Actually they do. I am their doctor, remember?"

"But merely parts of them actually consult you. There is only a minimum chance of their-."

"Shut up, could you?" John asked. "Thank you very much."


	4. Chapter 4: dem damn doughnuts

**Disclaimer: I don't care, I own it. **

**Hello lovely people of the interweb! I hope you all are having a wonderful day and that this little fanfiction may even brighten it a little more. Or rather your night depending on which side of the globe you're currently on.** **:P**

**Please enjoy and wish me luck, as I am going to need it for the Maths test I'll write tomorrow. At least I will die gracefully then. **

**Anyway, have fun! And I tell you, boys and girls, do something with your life while you're still young! Do not under any circumstances write fanfiction while you should be learning. It will destroy your life. **

* * *

Sherlock and John left the toilet in a hurry, finding not much to do in there than punching the walls and decorating the toilet-seats with toilet-paper, it was to be Christmas soon after all.

John felt a bit out of place here, with his full out-fit signalling his gayness and having a man by his side did nothing to cheer up his dignity either. Especially if that man was Sherlock Holmes, who every man, acknowledge it or not, had in some state of his life felt a pull towards.

However, Sherlock at least did his best at keeping up the facade of an inanimate object. Although John was pretty sure Sherlock felt something behind his mask, as the edges of his mouth seemed to rise up ever so slightly when he looked into John's direction.

This was now officially the most embarrassing thing John had ever done. He had woken up on his neighbour's lawn several times and had too just spent a day with Sherlock Holmes doing the most ridiculous things, but right now felt like the climax of his life.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Where's the exit?"

"Only another 400 metres John, don't fuss."

"Excuse me? You're not the one wearing nothing but a skirt!"

"But if I did, you'd get all hot under that snug little collar of yours." Sherlock grinned. "Don't deny it."

"I am not gay, remember?"

"Yes, true. But who said something against bisexual?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Watch your tongue young man, your tone of voice is getting rather rude."

John snickered. "Really, shut up, man. I don't want more spotlight on me than I already have."

"The fun thing is that no one really recognizes me, they're all too caught up in your lovely, long legs." Sherlock replied. "Your lovely, _hairy_ legs."

"Oh for Christ's sake-!"

* * *

The cab was standing steady and ready to roll. "To 221B Baker Street, please."

The cabbie nodded at Sherlock's request, kindly overlooking John's rather odd state. John let out a sigh of relief.

"I thought this would never end."

"Oh, they would have thrown us out after some time anyway." Sherlock said, knowing his game. "And you got to spend a day with me, isn't that great?"

"The angels cheer because we're together." John mocked, shaking his head. "Well, I now own a wide selection of skirts, something to look forward to."

"Where are we heading at again?" He asked the cabbie.

"221B Baker Street, sir."

"As in the- you're kidding me, aren't you Sherlock?"

"No, I'm not." Sherlock laughed. "But first we'll get you properly dressed, eh?"

* * *

They were there, on the famous set of 'Procrastination', the highly celebrated and most popular show of the past 3 years. Sherlock Holmes played the leading role and was accompanied by well-known actors as David Tennant, Matt Smith and Tom Hiddleston.

John couldn't help but let his chin fall to the floor. This was so surreal, just not possibly possible. This was the same set he had looked at for many hours, watching the renominated TV-show. Wow.

"And who may this be?" Said Anderson, the chief cook and bottle washer, an amused expression plastered on his face. "Could it be that Sherlock Holmes has finally brought a date?" He laughed.

"I'm not his date." John responded, oddly unsure what this really was. "And I'm not gay."

"Oh, if Sherlock Holmes has taught me something then that is looking at people the right way. " Anderson sneered. "And if I look at you, you look pretty much like it."

"Hey, what-?"

Sally Donovan pointed at his finger-nails. "See?"

John only huffed, giving in. "I'm not-"

"And are these Sherlock's trousers? Jeez!" She declared, laughing. "I didn't think it was possible."

"What possible?"

"Sherlock Holmes isn't single anymore. People listen!" She shouted. "The freak's not single any longer!"

The whole room gasped and Greg almost chocked on his drink. He, the director, had never thought this anywhere near possible.

* * *

"Greg?" Sherlock asked, deciphering his script and memorizing it in one take.

"Yeah?"

"I'll leave earlier today, just to let you know."

"What?"

"Have a concert today. You could try filming me while I'm singing but it would make for a rather strange angle and the sound-quality-."

"I have understood your point." Greg said. "But we really have to start filming very soon, everyone's there; we haven't had that for ages."

"We could, if possible, do one now?"

"But you were only just handed in the script." Greg said bemusedly. "And the others don't know their lines either although they have had them for quite some time."

"You should know me; I've got everything up there." Sherlock said tapping at his precious head. "And if they don't, I will make them. You know my methods."

A shiver creeped its way up John's spine. You didn't ever want to get into Sherlock's bad books.

* * *

Sherlock stood there completely still, no muscle spasming, no breath taken, no sign of life shown until he started his acting. The silence before the storm.

And it really was a storm, somehow Sherlock switched himself off completely and transformed into Martin, the friendly, slightly awkward under-paid pilot, who everyone adored. And there was no space left for Sherlock. Sherlock was now Martin.

Nothing of Sherlock hinted that Sherlock had ever inhabited this body. It was amazing, really. But somehow freaking scary. What if Sherlock was acting all the time? What if this day had been merely acted out by Sherlock?

John gulped, what was happening right now? Was Sherlock really- Eww. Ewww! No, this wasn't right. He shouldn't be kissing that guy, it wasn't right. No. NO.

The kiss suddenly turned heated, leaving John with his mouth wide open. Why wasn't he a part of his show? Why couldn't he be in that Hiddleston's position? Why-?

John recovered himself, trying to zone out the moans and shutting his eyes close, because if he did-! Damn, John's jeans were tight.

He opened his eyes again, taking another look at the scene. Hadn't they been talking about lines before? What lines were in this scene other than: "Ughhh!" "Ahh!", "Hmm!" and other exclamations of pleasure?

John took another last look at the pair and then decided to leave. He couldn't stand this traumatizing sight any longer.


	5. Chapter 5: Wind of Change

**Disclaimer: Do I even own the disclaimer? What do I own apart from a pair of socks and a life filled up with fanfiction? What is the sense of life?**

**Weeeell, don't give a damn. **

**Hello once more fellow nerds! I welcome you to another small chapter, which I am sorry to say, isn't intended to be funny in the least bit. I just didn't feel like writing something funny, when the only thought I can properly form is yaaaaaaawn. O:**

**I hope you don't bother! Please, please, please review and tell me what you think! Even if it is criticism, I am a tough girl and still happy to recieve it, because then I may be able to change something. I love you all! Like seriously, I'd go up to your houses and throw roses at you if I could. :)**

* * *

"John?" Sherlock asked, his gangly fingers losing themselves in his shirt that he so tightly pulled at. "Everything alright with you?"

"Sure, sure. I'm always fine. I-." John sighed, as Sherlock mustered him attentively. "Oh, there's no need to pretend, is there?"

John crossed his arm in front of his jumper. Giving in to Sherlock's knowing stares.

"I'm not fine, in fact. I- don't know either why, really. I just need a break, I think." He gulped. "I guess this all has been a little bit too much, maybe."

"So, you're just going to leave me here?" Sherlock questioned, his eyelids suddenly drowning his eyes. Milliseconds later he was fully alert again, dressing his face with a smile. As he had done so many times.

"Yeah." John sighed. "This has been a fun evening and all, but- I don't know, I just don't feel quite right." Especially after scene 42, he didn't ever want to witness that again. A shiver reached him, shaking his whole body.

"John, are you sure you can go Holmes alone?" Sherlock's eyebrows drew a line in concern. "You do not look anywhere near it."

"I will do."

A silence filled the room with questions Sherlock wanted to ask, but not being able to, since he didn't want to make things a lot more awkward than they already were.

"What about-?" Sherlock stopped mid-sentence, considering.

"What- did you just say?" John asked back tiredly, thinking of Tom Hiddleston's face so close to Sherlock. Too close.

"Never mind, I just thought that maybe-we-." Sherlock swallowed. "I thought we, were something, you know-" Sherlock shook his head. "Don't bother."

"- Anyway, John. Have a nice trip back home. Take care of yourself, will you?" Sherlock said, unable to hide the care off his face.

"Okay, goodbye, Sherlock Holmes. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance." This wasn't even a lie. John had, before, imagined what it would be like to meet the famous Sherlock Holmes, but this had been the complete opposite of what he had thought it to be. The biggest idiots can only be your friends, because they are so much like you. But, where they even friends?

"You too." Sherlock paused, looking on the floor. "You know, if you wanted, you could actually, naturally only if you wanted, I won't force you into anything- Uh, you know- I've got a concert tonight and maybe, you could come?"

"The magic word?"

"Please? John, you're being childish."

"I'll think it through, okay?" John's mouth twitched upwards a tad bit. "See you."

"Goodbye."

Sherlock sighed, looking at the hedgehog, who was by now already at the door. Who knew, maybe this was the last time they ever met? And why did the thought distress Sherlock so much? God forbid, he didn't have any feelings for the man, did he? Feeling emotions was rather distressing.

"Aww, hello Sherlock." Sally coaxed, swiftly shuffling closer to him. "Why so sad? Has your boyfriend left you all alone?"

"He's not my boyfriend-"

"Don't even try to pretend, he was wearing_ your _pants remember?"

"And he still is." Sherlock smiled a sad smile, but then suddenly he realized. "He still _is_."

* * *

The crowds cheered and screamed from outside, the noise almost tearing down the walls and Sherlock ears. Whose idea had it been for him to become famous?

Oh, shit. Naturally.

He had, in the beginning, thought that life would maybe be a lot less tedious if he were to become a star. The contrary had been the case.

All Sherlock did now was fake-smile, sing the same dull songs over and over again, nothing new happening than the occasional stalker or paparazzi, who he wasn't a fan of either. Dull, Boring, predictable life.

Just for this one day he had thought that maybe something had shifted- that- Shut up! It was of no use to think of that now, he would merely get depressive.

Sherlock fetched his violin from the corner, pulling it up to his chin for relaxation. His bow was soon found as well and there was nothing left to do than to enter the stage in a few minutes. Sherlock sighed.

Maybe they wouldn't eat him up alive.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was rather a rare beauty, swirling around the stage like that. Every move he made was followed by the smooth melody, his face completely concentrated on his task. His curls bobbed up and down every so often, his cheekbones in sharp contrast to them, but still somehow fitting. The song quietly came to an end, now was John's chance.

He knew he should ask later on, but he couldn't wait.

* * *

The crowd cheered as the song had finished and the fangirls screamed their lunges out, one after another falling to the floor from anxiety. Such simple, easily satisfied minds.

Sherlock should buy himself one of these. Or a replacement for John. Although, Sherlock wasn't fond of whores.

Had he just compared John to a whore? Yes. Regrets? None. John would most likely not even be that bad at- Oh, what did his brain do in the last days? John.

Where was John? John was nowhere to be seen, John just wasn't there, had most likely not even thought about coming. Sherlock had been so sure. So sure that he would.


	6. Chapter 6: the desolation of culture

**Disclaimer: What if I did? DUN-DUN-DUNNNNN**

**Hello, mes lovely readers! How are you feeling today?** **This chapter is probably corny as hell, but weeeeell, I love kitsch. :3 At least it isn't as depressing as the last one. **

**Thank you all so, so much for being there for me and supporting me throughout this story! I wouldn't be able write anything without you! :)))I love you! **

**Please review if you like this story and if you don't then to hell with it, do it as well! All I want to know is how I can improve and get this story the extra touch of awesome. :D **

**Thanks again and please enjoy! **

* * *

Sherlock could feel the energy in the room, the vibration of happiness flooding each corner of the concert hall and taking him on board a little, if only a bit. Normally Sherlock would merely ignore it; it was barely a feeling, just a slight tingle in his stomach that could easily be taken for granted. But right now he needed it. Right now this was just right.

Because right now, he missed John. Stupid. Stupid. How can someone miss a person they scarcely knew? A stranger?

Sherlock stood up straight again, trying to recollect his thoughts. He didn't want to make such a wretched impression in front of his fans. Wait, since when did Sherlock care what people thought about him?

Stupid, so very stupid.

* * *

"Stop right there!" A security guard exclaimed, bewildered at the thought of actually having to do his job.

"Can I please talk to him?" John said, taking his legs off the barrier again disappointedly.

"Who?"

"Sherlock." John made a Duh!-face. "Who else could I want to talk to?" You moron.

"He's right up the stage, you-." Don't insult your customers. "I do not think that will be possible, since he's a bit preoccupied at the moment, wouldn't you reckon?"

"Oh, he will be happy to see me." John grinned, a snug and self-confident smile warming his face. "I'm sure."

"If you think so." The security guard rolled his eyes, grateful for the fact that his face wasn't visible in the low lightning. "See, I can't get you up there, the boss would be upset, I'm sorry." I am not. Actually I'm laughing at you right now. Hehe, fun.

John sighed. "Can't you do anything?"

"Depends, I could leave a no-."

Sherlock stopped singing mid-song, leaving the whole hall shivering in silence and tension. The air could have been cut through by a butter knife, it was so thick. Sherlock's eyes glued themselves to the spot John had just stood on, flickering back and forth, but not finding his target. Had he just witnessed some sort of John-a Morgana?

"John, are you-?" Sherlock asked, his voice at its rawest. Another hoard of fangirls collapsed onto the floor at the sound, the other half was left with shouting their hymns of how amazing Sherlock was, that they wanted a child from him, how they would never stop loving them, you can fill in the rest yourself. Don't you dare tell me you don't know what complete, unconditional celebrity-devotion is; you're currently reading this.

"-there?" Sherlock asked quietly, unsure.

He threw the bow out of his hands absently, only focusing on John. One fangirl was going to be the hell happy now.

"Is that you?"

A scream sounded from the barrier then, John furiously mingling with 3 security officers at once, who simply wouldn't let him through. This really had to be John. Nobody else would be that stupid.

"John!" Sherlock shouted running forward, the violin still in his hands. "John! Let him through, he's my guest of honour!"

"You don't have any guests of hon-." A security guard said, stopped amid the sentence by Sherlock's authoritative stare.

"Thank you, I do now. And do please shut up; need to see my John-"

The crowd gasped. Was it possible? _My_ John? Desperation!

Silence filled the room as John fought his way through, climbing the so-hated barrier in one go and almost flying up the stage, giving no damn about any people being knocked over.

That was until he was finally on the stage, taking petite, quiet steps into Sherlock's direction.

"Sherlock, I-." John stammered. "I'm sorry about yesterday, I was just a bit off, I don't-."

"Remember what I just said to Victor?"

"Huh?"

"Mr. Fancy-pants standing right behind you."

"Oh, the security guard." The crowd laughed, they knew him all too well. "What about him?"

"I told him to shut up." Sherlock said grinning. "You could do something way more productive." Sherlock's grin widened as he shuffled closer to John awkwardly.

"As in?"

"Are you really this daft John?"

"Sher-?" John's eyes widened in realization, as the crowd went as silent as the grave they felt like being in at the moment. "Do you honestly want us to f-?"

"You still have to hand me back my trousers, remember?" Sherlock said, arranging the violin on the stage's edge.

"Oh." John cringed, feeling let down by the situation and disappointed, somehow. Why did nothing ever work out the way John wanted it? Or rather how John's body wanted it. This was getting weird. "Sure, must be in my flat somewhere." John sighed.

"Oh, and while you're here-." Sherlock smiled a crooked smile. "I could as well do this."

Tears were shed at the sight that now lay before them.

Sherlock closed the distance in between the two of them, tugging close at John's waist, letting his hands wander and then stopping at his face, sweeping away a few bread crumbs off of John's shirt. "You're dirty." He grinned.

John chuckled. "You too... and hot as hell." John placed his hands gently on Sherlock's forehead. "You really are."

The fans couldn't hold their shit together anymore. "Nooooo!" "Sherly!" "Feels!" "I can't!" "I khan't even!" "Wut?" "FUUUUUUUUUUU!" and "What is air?" being the most popular sentences.

"If you don't shut up right now, I will-"

"Y U NO –"

"You asked for it." Sherlock said, grinning and now finally doing exactly what he wanted to do. Right in front of this large crowd.

Sherlock pulled John even tighter, a little tug at his heart telling him to go on. "John, I, I-." He paused searching for eye contact. "... think I love you."

"I-I-" John stammered, unsure once more. "I-."

"You don't have to answer; all you must to do is follow me." Sherlock said, grinning over both of his ears.

And that was the moment. The moment which made both their hearts beat faster. The moment they finally kissed.

And it shouldn't have been their last kiss for this evening. Nor their last kiss ever after.


	7. Chapter 7: sulphurous cravings for jelly

**Disclaimer: Don't own me Sherlock, do own me some sassiness. ;)**

**Whee, I've finally managed to produce another chapter! I'm sorry for leaving you hanging like this, it's just SCHOOL! Sorry, will try to avoid ranting for now.**

**I hope you have a wonderful read and enjoy it! Please review if you do so and if you do not, please do it as well!** **Thanks a lot! :D**

**And thanks a whole damn lot about the lovely and over-whelming response I've already recieved. Like seriously, wow! I mean, I only wrote so much as 6 chapters and this story already has 21 reviews? I just freaking love you so much, I can't put it into words!**

* * *

And so it was that John Watson and Sherlock Holmes went on snogging on one of the most greatly anticipated concerts that London had ever seen, not giving any damn whatsoever.

To be kissing a complete stranger but still feel so close. Like they had known each other since forever. Or longer.

There were still a very few solid fans standing in the hall, waiting to be entertained, or rather to get rid of the sight of _their_ Sherlock Holmes snogging the hell out of some poofter. Eww! What had happened to Sherlock Holmes, the ever-lasting virgin?

Hadn't they told him that Sherlock Holmes would forever stay single? That he wouldn't ever love you, but wouldn't love anyone for that matter? The press never did anything else apart from telling you lies.

There was a sudden out-roar of fans, not wanting to have spent their money on nothing. It had been a lot actually, Sherlock didn't get his super-expensive duck-panties for nothing. And they wanted something to show for it.

"SHERLOCK!?" "SHERLOCK HOLMES!""WUUUUUUUUUT?"

"Go easy on him guys, he's just kissed a guy for, what, the first time in his life?" John blinked at Sherlock questioningly. "No need to be rough..."

"My first ever kiss, actually." Sherlock grinned. "And there is a need to be rough. You should know it the best." Sherlock whispered in John's neck coarsely, making John shiver in excitement.

This was evolving into something rather dangerous. "Sherlock could you please stop talking me in such a way, you're- putting me off." John whispered, his knees feeling like jelly under the seducing gaze of Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh, why is that so?" Sherlock said, smirking.

"Erm... my jeans are a bit- you know?" John cleared his throat anxiously. "Tight."

"Hmm..." Sherlock said, his deep voice making John quiver. "There's a way to change that."

From one second to another John suddenly was in complete lack of air and so were the ever faithful fans, trying to breathe once more and not die of an anxiety attack.

But to John and Sherlock's surprise, the fans didn't turn their heads now or booed them. Many of them actually stood there and just smiled at them, giggling like the teenage girls a few of them were.

They had found their perfect ship. And it sailed itself.

* * *

The concert had finished in agreeable terms and the fangirls had now found another sense in life: Johnlock. If they couldn't have Sherlock than at least he should, he looked like a cuddly sort. John was like the perfect antipole and Sherlock and he were like magnets, circling around each other, drawn to each other.

This was perfect!

Sherlock and John were relaxing now; perfectly happy on the old, scruffy sofa; enjoying each other's company.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmmm...?" Replied he, feeling snug.

"You know, now that we-."

"Hm?"

"What do we call ourselves, now that we're together?"

"Are we?"

"Yes, of course, or do you have anything-?"

"Nah, obviously." Sherlock said, grinning over both his ears. "Wouldn't ever do. But do you really want it?" Sherlock's eyes dropped a few degrees and grew a bit preserved.

"What, naturally I want us to be together." John replied, distracted by Sherlock's ominous behaviour. "Why would you ever say that?"

"You've only seen the bright sides of me today, you only know me for so long. Who are you to know that I don't have worse ones?"

"What- are you talking about, Sherlock?" Said John worriedly.

"You don't know how cruel I can be, how inhumane I am at times. I have been reliably informed that I am in fact a high-functioning sociopath, already at the young age of nine."

"Who told you that?"

"My mother. Send me to a doctor who only consented." Sherlock sighed, looking back at one of the most hated hour of his life. He didn't want to continue, but he knew he had to. "And another appalling fact about me is that I am more intelligent than you may think I am."

"You're an arrogant bastard then." John chuckled. "I don't mind."

"Well, I wouldn't say so. It's quite distressing at times, I can analyze pretty much anything in no more than a minute and then enquire more about them than they themselves know."

Now John was all ears. Or to a certain degree all mouth because his mouth stood up wide open, looking a great deal like this story's cover. "You really can? That's like a super-power or something, Wow! Mustn't it be cool to be able to do that?"

"I could give you an example-"

"Do me!"

"With pleasure." Sherlock grinned flirtatiously, his fingers seeking and finding the button on John's trousers, unzipping them with bliss in his fingers and his whole body.

"No, no, it wasn't meant like that!" John exclaimed, trying to recover his faltering breathing pattern.

"Ohh." Sherlock sighed in disappointment. "You sure?"

"Well..." John grinned. "But anyway, where were we?"

"You, you wanted me to seduce you-" Sherlock went a tomato-ish shade of red. "Uh, I mean deduce you of course." Sherlock cleared his throat, his ears growing all pink and warm.

Funny feeling, this. Sherlock had never been embarrassed before.

"Well, back to the point: you. You have an alcoholic for a sister, are a doctor, have been an army one. You have been shot while serving your queen and country and have had a psychosomatic limp, which faded away slowly when you met her? Wait..., who is she?"

His eyebrows furrowed, as Sherlock circled around John, not believing his own tongue. Why hadn't he noticed it before?

John gulped. He shouldn't have forgotten her.


	8. Chapter 8: if Santa were a reindeer

**Disclaimer: Don't own, but I will do :D**

**Hello lovely people of the interweb, here's another chapter that I hope you will all enjoy a great deal. I had fun writing it so I hope you'll have as much fun reading it. :P**

**Hehe, I'm destroying everything again.** **Keep doing that. **

**Thank you so, so much for your general loveliness and glee you give to me every day! I love you! :D **

* * *

"I have a son from- her." John confessed.

"You- you have a daughter?" Sherlock exclaimed, completely bewildered.

"What?" John gulped. "I mean yes- I have."

"You?- you have a daughter- but?"

"Out of my marriage with Sarah- it-"

"What, you're married?"

"Yes, yes I am, well whatever you'd call us-."

"You're MARRIED?" Sherlock shouted standing up, losing it completely. He had thought he had found his soul-mate and now? Everything screwed up after some time. Everything went to waste, even John, his perfect John. Or not his?

Sherlock let out a shaky breath and his eyes grew all red; because of the high temperature in the room of course.

"I thought, I meant something to you- I thought- lord."

"No, no, you really mean something to me- I love you!" John cried out, feeling at fault.

Sherlock laughed sarcastically. "Yeah, try that on her, you-." Sherlock shook his head. "I can't even insult you; I love you- too much."

"It- t hurts." Sherlock let out a gentle sob, sitting down once more. Why did he have to be so pathetic? Why couldn't he just bottle up his emotion like he always had?

"I love you too, I just-." John whispered, laying his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I can't."

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Sherlock shouted now, his teeth gritted like a lion's. "You dared to come to me, you dared to kiss me, touch me, without telling me a word about HER?"

Sherlock breathed in and out slowly trying to shut himself down.

"How-!?" Sherlock's eyes grew a bit softer now, trying to understand.

"I- we- we have been married for a long time now. She loves me- I don't love her and so- we still have Hamish, I can't just leave her alone. He's still so young. And she would be so hurt if I left her! Don't you see?"

"But, why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought I-I don't know, I just fell for you. I didn't want it to get into our way."

"You see, it did. We can't do it, we can't stay together, we can't." Sherlock shook himself. "I will have to delete you."

"What?"

"I won't kill you of course-." Sherlock sighed at the smaller one's incompetence. "You will see soon enough what it means."

Sherlock stood up, his whole body and face transforming into a cold marble statue. "Don't ever get face to face with me again, clear? Go back to your- wife or whatever."

Sherlock shooed John. "Please leave, now! You aren't welcome here any further."

"But couldn't we make it all work, couldn't I-?" John spoke softly, looking into the other's eyes longingly for the last time.

"No. You lied to me. And think - Paparazzi are everywhere and they can see everything they want to. You should be grateful if they haven't spotted us today, on the stage."

"Please." Sherlock whispered. "It hurts."

* * *

Silent and dark where John's steps back. He wouldn't have to walk too far, they were in London after all and so was John and Sarah's home. But was this really home? Or just a place to sleep in?

He could take the subway of course. But walking had always been his favourite thing to do if things didn't turn out right.

Sarah would certainly ask questions, but nothing he couldn't handle. He was a doctor after all. Doctors had to be able to handle a lot of pressure and a lot of hard times. He would get through, would carry on. He always had.

* * *

Sarah found John on the sofa the next morning, unfamiliar scents and smells guiding his way. He must have had a long day of work perhaps; you get in contact with many different people in such a job.

She turned on the TV, cuddling up to the still sleeping doctor, her husband.

The news were talking about the usual depressing catastrophes they always did, a deathly storm there an earth quake there. Nothing really new about it.

That was until she reached the biggest catastrophe.

"John! John!" She shook John. "JOHN! WAKE UP! WHAT IS THAT?"

John opened his tired eyes a slit, barely noticing what happened on the screen or anywhere around him. But not for long.

"Good news, good news! Sherlock Holmes is no longer single! On the concert yesterday it was made official. For exclusive-"

The screen showed a picture of Sherlock and John close up, close enough to see every facet of their passionate kiss. Close enough to see that one of them was John Watson, _her husband_.

"Please tell me this is a joke."


	9. Chapter 9: the horrors of thine absence

**Disclaimer: - my goal in life: destroy that f-**

**Hullo there! Here we go with another tiny, little chap. I hope you'll all have an enjoyable evening and stay as awesome as you are. Because damn, you are amazing. ;) **

**Please R&R to the extents that may pleasure you. **

* * *

Sherlock stretched out on his sofa, dreading the following days. They would be finished with filming soon, a day or two may suffice and then they would be done. Done.

And afterwards another era would break, the era of a world-tour on Sherlock's side. A fact he took only with dismay and disapproval, as there was absolutely nothing he was looking forward to. Not even John was by his side.

The only things he would have to think about now were the interviews, how to make the impression that everything was utterly fine. They would ask about John, of course. He would have to play along, 'it was just a silly kiss', he would say. Nothing more.

And then he would turn away, because it would hurt too much. It would hurt too much to show a smiling face. Too much to flirt with the camera.

How he hated this life; all the traffic about his person. The blind worshippers, who had never seen his true self, just an image. As if anyone had ever done that except from John.

John. John. John. What would he do without him?

Just stay alive. Carry on. Breathe.

* * *

Where was he?

Oh, shit, right. In a park, just like the homeless. Not that he would complain though; at least he had found somewhere to sleep on.

People gave John sympathetic looks while crossing his bench, wondering whether or not they should drop a penny at him. Bravo John. Did he really look that bad?

John stood up carrying his luggage with him, searching for the lake or anything that could work as a mirror. A tea-spoon would do alright.

Oh my god, who was that man? Oh, oh. That was him? Lord, how awful can a person look?

John shook his head, cupping his hands so that he could splash some water on his face. Exactly what he needed right now.

To be able to see things clearer.

Life was pretty messed up right now, he had been thrown out by Sarah, denied access to his son, but the worst thing was that he had grown a scruffy three-day beard. And it didn't fit his face at all.

Although one thing toppled the beard, he wouldn't be able to see Sherlock at all anymore. No bit of that perfect beast of a man. Nothing.

The connection was just cut. No way back. He was just another contact crossed off Sherlock's list. Sherlock could surely survive without him.

John sighed; this was not the way to do it. He would just catch a depression.

So, where to go to next?

* * *

Greg spotted the curly haired actor from afar, a wide grin spreading over his face. Sherlock had done his homework; John was a right looker. They would be happy together for sure. They just fit.

Everyone knew they did.

"Oh hello, Sherlock." Greg laughed, trying to spot any sort of difference or emotion in the other one's face. "How are things going?"

"Things?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I do not know what you could be referring to."

"You know I know that you know, don't you?"

Sherlock blinked perplexedly, but then nodded curtly. "May be."

"Well, how-."

"Do not even start on this topic." Sherlock sighed.

"But, it's phenomenal, it's-."

"No, it's not. I would be much more comfortable-"

"But you have to tell me details-"

"-IF YOU WERE TO SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!" Sherlock's fists clawed into his arms. "Thank you."

"But-."

"No, nothing about that." Sherlock looked intently into Greg's eyes. "Don't you understand?"

"What?"

"You will do soon." Sherlock painted a faked smile on his face. "We can start filming now."

"But-"

"I said SHUT UP!" Sherlock growled furiously.

The whole room gaped at Sherlock, shocked at the sudden outbreak of emotions. Especially from a man they had always thought to be a machine.

* * *

"- it's Sherlock Holmes, everybody! Give him a shout!" The whole audience cheered, smiling at Mr. Pleasant. Or rather not so very pleasant.

Sherlock smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and sat down.

"Want a drink?"

"No thanks." Sherlock said, grinning. "Have had enough for a lifetime."

The crowd laughed; a ringing sound in Sherlock's ears. "Yes, yes, the celebrities of today do sorrow us."

The interviewer paused for a while.

"So, Sherlock. Shall we begin?"

Sherlock smiled at the quote. "With pleasure."

"Now, let's talk about-well, 5 days ago, wasn't it?" He said grinning, searching for signs of approval in the crowd.

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock replied lowly, not searching for eye-contact but staring down at the floor.

"You know, you and that blonde one. John Watson, wasn't that his name? He's all over the news now; the man who could finally break the ice."

Something stung in Sherlock's chest. "That may be true." Sherlock looked the interviewer in the eyes, with painful 'happy' wrinkles around his.

"Please, do tell more." He leaned back in his chair, feeling just like the boss he actually was.

"Ah- yeah. It was nothing, it- I-." Sherlock stumbled for words. "It was just one silly kiss, I wasn't fully aware of it-"

"You looked like you did." The interviewer gave Sherlock a warning 'don't-spoil-it' glance, which was soon replaced by a representative smile.

"Well, I- you see- we didn't really-." Sherlock went Smaug-red.

"Didn't you?" The interviewer laughed.


	10. Chapter 10: The bacon is boiling

**Disclaimer: I don't own. Wow, what a surprise, I know. **

**Hello everybody, it's as always a pleasure to have you here. I hope you are going to enjoy this chapter and be a little happy, as this chapter is a little less touchy-feely and a bit more like fairy dust, you know. ;) But only a bit. **

**Please read and review, but over all enjoy yourselves! :D **

* * *

Well, this had most likely been the most embarrassing interview in the whole history of time. But hey, he had made it through anyway. There were only so many interviews of that calibre left and then he would be able to talk about his fans strangely off-setting association of him as an otter. It couldn't qualify as his favourite topic to talk about, but it was better than John. Everything was better than John right now.

Sherlock hid his face in his hands, sighing.

Should be fun.

* * *

This was the exact moment that John decided. The precise moment that John decided that it couldn't go on like this, just couldn't. He wasn't able to stand this.

There must be a way out of this, no? There must be.

John had searched for a flat and had actually found one, right next to the park. It was far from anything beautiful or inviting, but it did its job. It was better than having to sleep on a bench, the stench of alcohol and puke penetrating his nose ever so slightly.

But still, something felt off. And John knew exactly what it was.

But how do you fix this? How do you contact Sherlock Holmes? He would surely be stamped as another fanatic fan, trying to reach his idol. But he wasn't.

He was just John. Only looking for the person he loved. Why must things always be so difficult?

Sarah would surely expect him to beg for his return now, for him to roll in the dirt in front of her feet. But well, that wasn't the plan. Haha.

Hmm... who was that Greg guy again?

* * *

Greg tried to flash Sherlock his most reassuring smile, before turning to the whole set. "Attention-attention-please!"

He shouted, all the attention suddenly centred on one point of the room. This was Sherlock staring absently at the wall, looking even paler than the most time.

Azog the defiler.

Sally giggled.

"So, now that we're all silent, I'll start." He cleared his throat. "This is our last day here on the set, maybe for forever. If you could please-"

Greg shushed Anderson. "Please."

"Okay, right. I'd like to thank you for all the wonderful support and help. The new season has turned out perfectly well, applaud yourselves."

The crowd cheered themselves and Sherlock sniggered despite himself. Who was the most arrogant in this room?

"And thank you, especially Sherlock, for being such flawless actors. Thank you!"

"Sherlock? Flawless?" Anderson sputtered all amusement.

"Tops you by far." Greg hissed, stepping in front of Sherlock as if to protect him.

"Ooh, oh. Why so protective? Shouldn't 'John' be the one to do that job?"

"Let him out of this!" Sherlock cried, letting himself fall against the wall for support when done. This was too much. Too much.

Sally made an O-shape with her mouth. "Oh, did he leave you?"

"Please." Greg tried to interfere, but was soon interrupted by An-

"Oh, shut up." He sassed.

"_You_ better shut up soon Anderson."

"And why that?"

"We need him here, Sherlock, seriously we do." Greg patted Sherlock on the shoulder. "Without him you would all live on the streets, that's why. I don't even know what you're doing here anyway, Anderson. (?)"

"Oh, you know, I- um-." Anderson coughed. "I, you know, do your dishes- and things."

"Do you now? Isn't that Mrs. Hudson's job?" Greg raised an eye-brow.

"Erm..."

Sherlock giggled, for once grateful for Greg's presence and sass. And, honestly, Anderson just really deserved this. This and far more.

* * *

Greg ordered tequila, happy about the final moment of peace at the end of this so very long and tiring day. But, they were finished, at least with filming. It would still take some time, but then it would be just perfect, like always.

Greg sighed in content.

Until a hand tapped on his shoulder. "Erm... hello? You're Gregory Lestrade, right?"

"What?"

Just what he had needed, another one of these idiotic fans. Or wasn't he?

"You're that John Watson guy, aren't you?" Greg circled around John. "You really are. God, you shouldn't be here."

Greg looked at him, sorrow filling up his eyes. "He isn't happy, you know."

"He?"

"Sherlock. Who else?" Greg cleared his throat. "I'd like it better if you were to leave now."

"Why is that so?" John asked, a little caught up with a small group of people entering the room.

"You have hurt him, you know. His ice had been cracking for once and you destroyed it, destroyed him. He is now even more screwed up than before." Greg laughed ironically. "I just couldn't bear the thought of chattering away with the man who broke him, understand?"

Greg looked frantically around the room, his eyes searching.

"I'd just like to contact him one last time, you know- say sorry." John stammered.

"No." Was Greg's easy answer.

Greg's drink was finally there and he received it with great pleasure. The smell was so calming, hmm. Just what he needed. However there was someone in this room he didn't really need right now.

"Please leave now, okay?"

"No!" Answered John, feeling relentless. "I will _not_ go before you give me his number."

"Well, I'll leave before then. Please?"

"No." But this time neither John nor Greg said a word. Behind the bar stood a broadly smiling, curly-haired actor. "Enjoying your drink?"

Greg's glass fell onto the ground, splashing its contents onto the floor.

Sherlock shrugged. "Well, no longer as it seems. Want another?"


	11. Chapter 11: the eleventh hour

**Disclaimer: I do not deserve to own Sherlock.**

**Yes, I live, yay!**

**Oh my god, I'm so sorry for not updating for so long, seriously. Nooo. I'm so, so sorry for the long wait and also very sorry for the PMs that are yet to be replied to. This week of school has been hell, I'm sorry. *sniff***

** Don't punch me, you didn't have to wait three years until I returned. **

* * *

"Sherlock, I told you-." Greg stuttered. "Why are you here this early? I told you to come later?"

"Nonetheless, that didn't include the absolute prohibition of it, did it?" Sherlock's lips twitched upwards a bit. "I could see everything,- your eyes." Sherlock pointed. "You're a really bad liar."

"I wouldn't say that."

"You're lying." Sherlock smirked, but his eyes weren't the best liars either. "Your plans were as easily readable as a blank sheet of paper."

Greg rolled his eyes as John coughed quietly, trying to attract attention. A certain person's attention, to be completely honest.

"Oh, John, right." Sherlock's eyes twitched nervously. "Uhm, how are things, you know, how are you- and Sa-S-?"

"Oh, fine." John answered, staring at the floor. How interesting a stain on the carpet can be? Very. "And you?"

"Okay, I guess." Sherlock replied. "I always am."

A silence left a huge gap in the conversation and the room and Greg shuffled awkwardly. "Uh-pff...Should I just leave you two at it?"

"No." Sherlock said panickedly.

"Yes."

Greg exchanged a few irritated looks with them and then sighed. "Oh, well. The customer is the king."

"Customer?" John asked bewilderedly.

"No, no, no. Don't leave me alone, no, please-." Sherlock begged, but Greg was persistent. Deep down he knew that John would have his reasons and probably good ones too. Maybe things should turn out the way they should, for once. For the sake of both of them.

"So-Bye, Sherlock." Greg exclaimed, hurriedly standing up and taking his leave.

Shit. The only appropriate word for this situation. Shit up to his ankles.

"So, Sherlock?" John tried avoiding Sherlock's gaze, but found his way back again every so often. "Uhm..."

"John, I don't want to talk about this, understand?" Sherlock mouth made up a tight line. "I just don't want to. We can talk about the weather, sports or for Christ's sake even fashion if that's your favourite topic, but not... that. Please?"

"No, Sherlock I want to solve this, just so you're aware. We have to- I couldn't stand the thought of us never finding our reconciliation, please." John's throat turned dry like sand.

"So seeking reconciliation, are we?" Sherlock asked, pulling out his hand into John's direction. John took it slowly, the both of them joined in an awkward hand-shake. "Tadaa! Everything settled now."

Sherlock bowed to John, before turning his lanky frame and searching for the exit.

"Sherlock, wait! We- can't let it end like this."

"Can't we? You seemed pretty aware of your actions, or was it just a coincidence that you kissed me?"

"No, I wanted to Sherlock." John's face made a serious expression without his knowing.

"Huh, yeah, sure. As if-" Sherlock went silent for a moment. "You know what; I'll just leave now, alright? You should have thought about this better, you know, before making me think that- you, you _loved _me." Sherlock's voice went thin, as the emotions tried to find their way into Sherlock's eyes.

Don't show signs of weakness.

"Goodbye, John."

"SHERLOCK!"

* * *

Sherlock was already half way through to the cab as John almost trembled over him.

"John, what do you want from me?" Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically at the same time.

"You."

"Well, that's nice, isn't it?" Sherlock grinned despite himself. "What do you really want?"

"I want you, as a whole."

"Oh John, do shut up."

"It's true."

"But what about Sarah, I take it you wouldn't have forgotten her?" Sherlock said, his voice taking a spiteful turn on the word Sarah.

"She's the reason why I am here, really."

"You wanted to say sorry on her behalf? Does she feel '_empathy'_ for me, John? That Sarah woman?" Sherlock's face spoke of discontent, not being able to arrange himself with that thought.

"No, you have misinterpreted my sentence, we have broken up."

"You have what?"

"Separated?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah, or rather we're on the way of doing so, there are a few things we still have to arrange, but then- off we pop out of marriage."

"And the child?"

"Child? Oh, Hamish is going to stay with me, Irene will stay with Sarah."

"What, you have two children? I thought you merely had a daughter?" Sherlock's facial expression was equivalent to a Klingon's furious one.

"Well... I'm sorry if that didn't really come across that way." John coughed awkwardly.

"So, wait... that means you're free, but you're not?"

"What?"

"You're not with Sarah anymore, but you still have to look after your son." Sherlock said very slowly for the daftest specimen of Johns that had ever populated this planet.

"That's true, but I don't _have _to look after my son, I want to."

"Do you now?"

"Yes, I do. Oh, don't look at me that way, you know I do."

Sherlock huffed. "Well, so much for that."

"For what?"

"Our opportunity, I thought that maybe I should give you another chance-"

"You did? Do you really think we could-?" Interrupted John, but was soon interrupted himself.

"Let me finish." Sherlock intervened grumpily. "However: a) you're a liar, b) who says you wouldn't cheat on me either, c) I fucking loved you and you didn't tell me anything, d) Sarah. I couldn't say I loved her, but still she was/ is your freaking wife and last but very much not least e) you have not yet said thanks for any of the bloody amazing things I let you see, you ungrateful bastard. I hope these are enough reasons to be going on with, don't you think? You have as many flaws as there are stars."

The doctor simply nodded rapidly in agreement, since he didn't want to feel more of an ass than he already did right now. How had he turned out this bad without his notice? Was the nodding good just then or wrong? Why did Sherlock watch him like this though? John let out a muffled sound of frustration.

"Oh, John. What are we going to do with you?" Sherlock sighed. "I'd know a lot of things that I'd... like to do to you right now in this cab, though." Suddenly Sherlock grinned crookedly, his voice like silk.

"Why don't you just- do it then?" John's tone of voice turned raw. "Just for one night, no more."

"One night, but one night only."

"You wouldn't have to do anything else than give in to yourself. There are no boundaries, no rules. You can leave tomorrow morning, no note left. Just you and me this one night, afterwards nothing will be changed."

"You sound so tempting."

"Don't I?" John grinned. "And I bet you, I look tempting as well. Check out that a-"

"Please, John. People will talk; the press especially."

"What does it matter? What does anything matter for this one night? Come on Sherlock, I know you want it... Want me." John's grin widened as his left eyebrow jumped up in self-confidence.

"You're one fabulous little bitch." Sherlock chuckled.

"Answer?" John said needily.

"Yes, yes of course. Leave your red pants on."


	12. Chapter 12: something blue

**Disclaimer: I don't even own a life right now.**

**Hello, lovely people out there! I'm happy that you have decided to read yet another chapter and have not given up on me. I'm not mad at you if you have, though. **

**This chapter is a little short. But anyway; the content is what matters, right? Hehe. **

**Please tell me what you think, it would bring glee to my heart. And nope, I don't mean the tv-series. **

* * *

The next morning was a cold one; or to be more precise the bed that John lay in was as cold as a grave, the comforting warmth of Sherlock vanished. Where to? It didn't matter. They wouldn't see each other for the rest of their lives, probably.

But that was of no importance either; the only thing that did matter was this one night. The one night the both of them had been completely content for once.

It would hurt for sure. But how could one be able to resist?

John ventured into the kitchen, seeking his favourite glass of jam. A good, generously buttered marmalade toast would surely do wonders. He definitely needed one.

And there was one. Right on the counter.

"John?"

"Sherlock?"

"Jam?"

"Yes, jam!" John looked at him sinisterly as to protect his jam.

"Alright, alright. Didn't man to insult you- uh... your jam." Sherlock raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were long since gone to the Netherlands or something." John said, cautiously eyeing Sherlock.

"That's exactly what I wanted to ask you. Knowing you, you'd sleep a lot longer under normal circumstances."

"You don't know me, really."

"I know more about you than you do yourself."

"True." John sighed. "And- I just missed you in bed."

"Did you? That's almost cute... Cute?" Exclaimed Sherlock, all astonishment about this brand new, unused, almost appalling word. The first time he had ever thought of someone as cute. Interesting. "Well, John. I'll have to say goodbye now."

"No, wait. Just a minute?" John asked, searching the cupboard. "I bought something for you."

Sherlock didn't reply and instead took a look around the room in curiosity.

"Won't be a second. I think it's in the bedroom." John said, secretly smirking at the thought of his bedroom. Good times.

"I saw this in the shops and thought it may suit you." John yelled from the other room and as Sherlock came closer he could make out the form of something blue.

"A scarf? Uh- thank you John."

"Put it on, please." John said as Sherlock uncertainly pulled it over his purple shirt of sex.

"Oh, that matches you perfectly!"

Sherlock mustered himself in the mirror and had to say: it didn't look too bad. The blue matched his hair and the texture was the perfect mixture between silk and rough. And over all it had a very strong smell of John. Absolutely brilliant choice.

Sherlock kissed John on the nose, leading John to giggle. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. You're welcome here any time you want."

Sherlock cringed. "You know I can't, you know I-."

"I know Sherlock, I know." John tugged Sherlock in a tight hug. "Just please-don't forget me, promise?"

Sherlock nodded. "I couldn't ever do that- even if I wanted to."

"Good." John bit his lip. "Could I have one last kiss, please?"

"Sure. But remember, this doesn't mean anything, right?"

"Absolutely nothing." Lied John, the emotions all too visible in his eyes. "Nothing at all."

* * *

**Thank you for all the incredible people out there, who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story. You mean the world and so much more to me!**


	13. Chapter 13: sweaters of mixed composures

**Disclaimer: Hello, les lovelies hommes! (Sorry, I'm not capable of French.) **

**I'm sorry to keep you waiting all the time, but school has not been the only factor which kept me from writing. I had tonnes of doubts whether or not I should carry on with this or not, I was close to ending this story completely because it didn't make much sense to me anymore. But I didn't want to leave you alone, so there goes another chapter. Hopefully there'll be another one soon. **

**Phew, anyway.**

**Thank you all, you amazing people, you. I couldn't even try to express my gratitude for your amazing support. Thank you so, so much. :D **

* * *

Sherlock tugged his new scarf close to his chest as he fled out of John's tiny flat. From what? He didn't know for sure either, maybe it was John, maybe these strange emotions or maybe even himself. But who was he to tell?

The floor underneath Sherlock suddenly made a scrunching sound, his shoes soon covered in a white substance. Snow. Right, just what he had needed.

Well, merry Christmas everyone.

* * *

John watched Sherlock leave from the small window, the decorations and tiny little lights enlightening his bemused face.

He wished he could muster his courage and just run up to Sherlock, saying good-bye for the very last time. But he couldn't. This couldn't end like this, John didn't want it to.

Nonetheless, he couldn't help it; he couldn't do much more than stare back at his dreams for the final seconds.

This was it then. There would be no more, no more of this brilliant man.

It was a true shame how much time they had wasted in each other's company, time they would never be able to forget. But John didn't want to anyway.

* * *

Sherlock prepared himself for another dire performance, so that the people of the press would have something to show for him. Well, make them pleased and then retreat to your dungeons.

He would survive, he always did.

Sherlock entered the buzzing room, a fake smile plastered all over his face. Just the way it had to be.

"A huge round of applause for Sherlock Holmes with his number 1 single: "No modesty, no shame."

The crowd obeyed happily, real smiles covering their faces. Although most of them didn't spend their time on something as superfluous as smiling, the majority simply yelled their praises for the popular man. Popular beyond belief.

Sherlock scoffed, but soon went to the microphone stand, taking the microphone in his hands. The cold metal felt surprisingly good in his hands, nowhere near uncomfortable. Perhaps the only thing he could hold onto in this foreign studio.

Well, this couldn't be worse than it already was, could it? Just get it over with.

* * *

The man behind the counter smiled down at him encouragingly, taking the money greedily. There was never anything close to enough.

"Thank you for your visit, Mr. Watson." He smiled, his tongue almost betraying the 'visit' for money.

"Pleasure." Yeah, as if. Just give me my-

"Goodbye."

John stormed out of the shop, finding his rest at last on a bench. Phew, at least he had all his presents now. Everything except one.

* * *

"Wow, that was wonderful, marvellous to say the least!" The host stood up, mind-blown from his head up to his toes. "How, where-? Wow. Big bravo!" He stammered, the audience supporting his exclamation with a huge roar of applause.

"Mr. Holmes, seat yourself at leisure."

"Sure." Sherlock replied, not having been prepared for an interview of any sort, the confusion well hidden under the wrinkles of his smile.

"So, the new series of 'Procrastination' will premiere tomorrow, as I've heard?"

"Erm... yes, why are you asking?"

"Oh, you know, rumours had it that you may be in for a surprise."

"Is that so?" Sherlock exclaimed, playing astonished.

"Aren't you going to ask what it is?" The host enquired more excitedly than Sherlock could ever have dreamt for.

"Uhm, no?"

The crowd laughed.

"Well, the main reason for bringing you here is you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you, since you have been NOMINATED FOR AN EMMY, everybody!" The host yelled, setting the crowd in a wild uproar of happiness and joy.

At that time Sherlock could almost imagine the grey-haired host peeing in his pants, so excited was he. Rather the opposite of Sherlock himself.

Sherlock merely checked his nails unenthusiastically, his facial expression's status: 'not amused'. "And...?"

"Uhm, that's it. You're nominated for best actor in a TV-show, isn't that a reason to party?"

Sherlock sighed. "Certainly, if that's your wish."

"Say goodbye to Mr. Holmes, everybody! It has been a remarkable pleasure to have you here."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but waved at his fans, pleased to finally be able to leave these ohsoverypleasent people. If they only knew.

* * *

A few days later, on Christmas Eve, John rang the door bell of Sarah's home. The home he had once been able to call his own, the warm harbour.

Perhaps his plan would work out.

The snow danced a silly little dance as Sarah opened the door. Her face to both ends confused and surprised. What did John want from her now, at this late hour? And especially, why did he come to her now that there separation was only a few days away?

"Hello Sarah." John uttered, the freezing cold finally reaching his body, a snowflake finding its final resting place on his jumper . "Merry Christmas."


	14. Chapter 14: granny enigma

**Disclaimer: DOOOO-WEEEE-DOOOOO! Don't own. Deal with it, bro. **

**Who would have guessed I wrote another chapter in such a short time frame? Me neither. But I got to do something productive, so hooray! :D**

**Thank you for all your amazing reviews. You probably think I'm just saying it like that, but I really do mean it. And you guys mean the world to me. Love and as many hugs as you could imagine**

**-me**

* * *

"John, what the hell could have possibly driven into you to show up like this? Here? At bloody Christmas Eve?" Sarah uttered irritatedly.

"I didn't want to be alone." John stuttered, his eyes captivating sadness. "I didn't want to spend my time all alone, you may be able to relate."

Sarah huffed.

"And I wanted to see you again. I care for you, no matter what happens." He said, trying to find the spark in his heart again he had once felt when gazing at her. It was all for waste, the main reason being a gorgeous mad man. "Can't _you_ see?"

"Alright." Sarah sighed. "What do you want?"

* * *

Greg was pleased, content to no end. Their new season had been a real success, each episode was watched by a minimum of millions of people and with every episode the anticipation and the excitement increased. The finale would be a classic for sure.

The only thing itching his back, in the metaphorical sense, right now was that Sherlock seemed to not be happy at all. All the violinist did was staring into the dark, thinking of John. Why did he still waste his time on that man?

But, to be honest with himself, he would be happy if the two of them just got their shit together. Greg had seen the improvement in Sherlock posture, how his eyes had started to twinkle when seeing John. When once or twice even a smile had crossed Sherlock's face. They had been so close to a perfect happy end, living happily ever after.

Sherlock deserved it, for all the hard work he had taken without complaint that he had made into masterpieces.

"Stop it, Craig. The thinking." Sherlock said lost in his train of thought. "I don't need any sympathy."

"My name's Greg, you moron. You should know that after years of working with me." Greg sighed, but had to chuckle. "Anyway, let's go. Mycroft won't wait forever."

"I wish he could, I can't stand his wobbly, greasy cheeks."

"Eh, don't insult my Myc."

Sherlock frowned. "Oh shut up, I didn't want to think about that. It gets more disgusting the more I have to think about you two-" His frown deepened as his mouth shut in abhorrence. "Eww..."

* * *

They got into the fancy black car, Sherlock taking the lead as usual, his face an unreadable white, blank piece of paper.

"Hello, brother dear." Mycroft exclaimed, enjoying the fact that he got to spend some time with his other half. And no, I didn't mean Sherlock by that.

Greg grinned up to Mycroft, knowing exactly what both of them so desperately wanted. A car was as good a place as any.

"Uh- puh-leez, have you always been this disgusting?" Sherlock said, being the definition of sass. "Can't you take this somewhere else? Or just do something that doesn't include you two exchanging- liquids." Sherlock shuddered.

Greg giggled. "I'd do anything with him, even something very nasty." Greg jiggled with his eyebrows and Mycroft merely hummed contently.

"Very nasty indeed, sir." He replied.

Gregory shuffled closer to Mycroft and so it was that they were soon caught up in a cuddle of some kind, Greg lying on Mycroft's well-built chest. "You know this car could, just for the possibility of it, stand us 'exchanging liquids' as Sherlock has so nicely put it?"

"Let's try it out, shall we. Gregory?" Mycroft said, grinning over both his ears.

By this time Sherlock had already retreated into his mind palace, however the repugnance on his face should not leave its place for the entire ride.

* * *

"So, little brother, beloved. The only thing you've got to do is keep your face smiling and seat yourself. Just don't do anything stupid alright?"

"Does this face look like it would do something silly?" Sherlock said dully. His face showing no sign of emotion.

"So, I won't have to worry then." Mycroft smiled. "Make your brother proud."

Sherlock heaved a sigh. "Don't discourage me."

They paused for a while, while Sherlock huffed. "I hate bowties."

"I know, Sherlock, I know. The Doctor wouldn't be pleased to hear you." Mycroft straightened Sherlock's bowtie for the last time with a chuckle.

"Shush, you. Go now."

"I will win anyway, brother."

Sherlock bowed before him, leaving for the hall with a hidden smile on his lips.

* * *

"I want to spend this one day with you and the children. I can leave later tomorrow; I just want us to be a family one more time. How horrible would it be for them to experience Christmas without their father?"

"Okay, alright, John." Sarah nodded. "I get your point."

John let out a breath of relief. He wouldn't have to spend Christmas all by himself.

* * *

They lay on the sofa together not really close to each other, but John's half frozen toes were warmed by Sarah's sheer presence, so it had its pro sides. They watched telly at the moment, the big ceremony taking up the entire screen and making dancing pictures on their faces.

Up to this minute nothing of real significance had happened, Miley Cirus had disturbed some audience members, but that was it.

However suddenly everything changed as John heard the mention of Sherlock Holmes's name out of the blue, his trance broken. Sarah tensed up beside him.

"... and these are the nominees for the category best actor in a TV-show." The presenter smiled nervously. "And the winner is..."

John clenched tight to his blanket. Hamish pointed at the screen. "Wasn't that the man you kis-."

"Shut up!" Sarah grumbled.

"Hey!" Hamish replied offended. "Did I say anything wrong?"

"... Sherlock Holmes everybody, what a surprise!"

The crowd cheered as Sherlock walked up to the stage, grinning all over the place in surprise.

"That's not his real smile. The real one... is far more beautiful." John said, not able to hold back a grin of his own either.

"He's beautiful anyway, wouldn't you say, dada?" Irene smiled, completely ignoring Sarah.

John simply nodded in response.

"Wow, how wonderful- how bloody amazing it is to be able to hold this treasure in my hands, I can't thank you enough." It will end up in my row of other useless plastic statues anyway, why did he have to do this? What is so important about a little shiny object? "It is a true honour. I was going to thank my cast and crew, but I am not."

The audience laughed, but Sherlock's face stayed dead serious.

"Instead I am going to say what really goes through my head."

Greg face palmed hard. This could only lead to complete disaster.

"I want to say something to a very special person out there." Sherlock stopped in his track for a while as the others awwwwed.

"This is dedicated to John, John Watson. I don't know whether or not you're even watching this, but- this award isn't mine, it's actually his, yours. I- have told you once before, but I hope this isn't less romantic for you." Sherlock looked straight into the camera now and John could almost feel him watching.

"I love you, John Watson. Honest to god, I do! I love you, you beautiful creature, no matter what has happened in the past. I would gladly take you back; I would do anything, anything at all for another second to spend with you. But it won't- you won't-." Sherlock's eyes softened.

The room fell silent, trying to figure out the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes.

"You're with your family now and there you shall stay, if that's your wish. We wouldn't be able to work this out anyhow. Goodbye, John, for the very last time. I just needed you to know, the world to know."

"Wow..." The presenter muttered. "Any last words?"

"Live long and prosper, Mr. Watson. And a happy new year."


	15. Chapter 15: to sass or not to sass

**Disclaimer: Italy owns pizza, England sass and Sweden glee. But I do not own Sherlock. :/**

**Well, hell-o wonderful people. ;D This chapter is a lot shittier than originally intended, since I haven't had so much as 6 hours sleep in the last week, so I'm sorry. Won't happen again. **

**We watched Sherlock today in class, so wahay! I am happy, as you might be able to imagine. ;)**

* * *

Sherlock knocked his face into the wall several times, before the pain became too unbearable to sustain. A pain he most thoroughly deserved.

So, this was the day he could finally call himself as irrational and thoughtless as anyone else, as blinded by love. He had made a right out fool out of himself, hadn't he?

Oh yes he had. What must John think of him now?

So silly, so stupid. So much of himself.

Sherlock didn't even want to imagine what torture the interviews would transform into now, they would turn out to be horrifying at any rate, but this had set things up to a whole new level.

The level of John.

Know these questionnaires at the doctors, where you have to describe the amount of pain you're currently in? This was far beyond the point of 'Reichenbach' and even 'I don't wanna go' didn't suffice, so Sherlock merely submerged into his bed.

Maybe it would help against the pain, no matter whether the aching came from his head or his heart.

* * *

John almost chocked on nothing but standard air, when he heard Sherlock, his voice. Every syllable which left the perfect cupid lips made John's heart grow, until it was so filled up with joy that it simply imploded.

John's hands shook as he tried to register his thoughts, all the lines blurred and he couldn't quite wrap around his head what Sherlock had just said. What he had just honestly said, out of his heart.

Little Hamish gaped up at John, his Dada not even noticing his wee presence. "Daddy, are you alright?"

"Naturally, I am fine-" John smiled absently. "More than that, I am perfect, I am- This is wonderful-"

"Are you sure?" Hamish interfered, his little shiny eyes staring up at his Dad earnestly.

"No."

"Huh?" Hamish's eyebrows knitted together.

"I am feeling far better than wonderful."

* * *

Irene soon left the room, her brother's hand in hers, as they both couldn't stand their parents any longer. It was not like they had something against them individually, they adored them both.

Nonetheless, the mere combination of the two of them together in a room right now was deadly. Either you went deaf from the ear-splitting sounds they produced or you were threatened to go to bed earlier, which was the greater punishment, obviously.

Only minutes earlier they had all been watching telly together in a comfortable atmosphere, the popcorn flourishing. And now?

They had to quarrel once again, on bloody Christmas Eve.

Irene shushed her thoughts hurriedly, Santa wouldn't approve of them for sure. She shouldn't always be such a naughty girl. But, what if he had already noticed?

Shit.

* * *

"Oh, my, god, am I right here? Is this- Sherlock Holmes?" An excited voice out of the mobile phone sounded, the edges shaky. Obviously trying to sound professional and calm but failing at the task with gravure.

Sherlock sighed dramatically, why would the stalking never end? Not even on Christmas Eve?

"Oh, no, no, no, Signorita, this is Gerolamo Rattista Pergolesi, you musta be-a at the wron' pleece, I'mma so sorre." Sherlock said in his best Italian accent, only so far from just gluing a moustache to his face, putting a pizza hat on top of it and shouting 'Dolce Vita, Signorita' into the phone simply to throw the phone at the wall and afterwards dip it into nice spaghetti sauce. But this was too much fun to let it end like that.

"Huh, are you sure?"

"Vehry, now-a if you could excusez moi." Ouch, that had been French. "I have some serious buzinez to look afte'."

"Aha? This is Molly Hooper; I simply wanted to talk to Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, that Shelock Holmsa? Eh, ain't that the rich fella wit all the moneh and chicks?"

"Chicks, what?" She said, a nervous tingle of queasiness in her belly.

"Yessa, yess, chicks, have not you heard about in news?" Sherlock gestured wildly, although he knew Molly couldn't see him. It made the whole speech rather more accurate.

"I though he were gay?"

"Oh, si, si, I mean all them hot boyz? That John Wassigimo, right? Me gusto, che could do _me_ any time he pleased." Sherlock growled erotically in an Italian way; however you might be able to achieve that.

"What? Ugh, you're disgusting, what is wrong with you?"

"It is 2 in te morning, capici? And you don't wanna know what I'm up to at-"

"I'm sorry, I just phoned the wrong address, all right? Can't I just hang up?"

"No!No!No!" Sherlock said, his voice rising to a volume of unbearable.

"Why not?" She said the feeling of distress merely increasing. This man should be locked far, far away.

* * *

"John, leave- now, please?"Sarah said, her face trying to show something else than complete despair, but not quite being able to convince her (yet) husband completely.

"But I want to be with my family at Christmas, I'll leave tomorrow, promise!"

"Do you really still think that we're your family, John?" Sarah whispered.

"Sarah, why have you just said that? Of course we are!"

"No, John, we're not. After we have finally separated, this family will be over. Finito!" Sarah raised her voice a bit.

"But the children... can't we meet up every so often? For them?"

"No, that's the problem, John. You only ever do things for yourself, for your stupid, selfish reasons. You should have thought about the decisions you made earlier, John. Because this not only hurts _you_, John. It hurts me and over all the children, they suffer the most, don't you understand? I will not allow you to see them again."

"Both of them? I thought I get to keep Hamish-?" John said exasperatedly. "Please, can't I? They mean the world to me, I need them in my life."

"No, you will not see them again." Suddenly Sarah's face turned into ice, ice that was determined to never break again. She looked more detached and hateful than ever, her nostrils blowing up in anger.

Not good. Not good at all.

"But- won't the children suffer more from my absence?" Said John cautiously.

"Who would ever suffer from your absence?" Sarah laughed sarcastically.

* * *

Sherlock sat upright, the mobile phone still in his hands, doing everything in his power to keep Molly in the conversation. So far he had told her he was a professional rapper and rapped a horrible Christmas rap in Italian for her, spoken about Pizzamas and its effects on our economy and was about to tell her Gerolamo Rattista Pergolesi's whole life story, when she finally tried to break this off.

Fortunately, she had had the patience of a saint up till now and had been too kind to hang up. Well, up till now. Sherlock really wasn't the best of rappers and she, to be frank, simply couldn't stand more of this shit.

However, the half an hour of torture had been quite enjoyable for one participant of the conversation.

"Erm, please? Can I just go now? I really have to phone Sherlock Holmes right now, John Watson is in grave-"

Sherlock's entire composure suddenly changed from chatty back to himself again and his face went blank, yet the sorrow was brooding in his body. It was too soon.

"What, is he okay? Has something happened to him? God, no. No, no, no. This can't be true."

"What- have you- are you? You're BLOODY SHERLOCK HOLMES?"

Always remember to be Italian. It might just save your life.


	16. Chapter 16: snow on my jumper

**Disclaimer: If I owned the universe I'd still not be as happy as if I owned Sherlock.**

**Hooray, I have managed to produce yet another chapter before Christmas. Take it as my little present to you all, although you deserve far better. I hope you have a nice christmas-y time and have lots of buiscuits, cookies and cake fill your belly.  
**

**Please enjoy le chapter and have a jolly afternoon. :D **

**And thank you for all the new people that have joined this wreck as well as all the loyal, awesome people that have stayed with this story although it has so many flaws. I seriously love you to chocolate bits. **

* * *

Sherlock coughed uncomfortably, trying to make the voices of awkwardness in their heads more indistinct. He should have won the Emmy for the biggest failure that called itself an actor, not for the silly little acting skills he owned.

Sherlock sighed, this was of no use. "Yes, yes, it's me."

"What? Really? You're not some odd Italian guy with a fetish for pizza?"

"Nope, not today." Sherlock cleared his throat.

Molly giggled. "You're so cute, even your Italian accent's cuddly."

"So, am I forgiven?"

"Sure, anything for you." Molly grinned; the big, fat smile on her face far too evident through the phone.

"Well..." Sherlock said, almost losing track of what he was about to say due to his immense lack of concentration and sleep. "What was that about John again? You better tell me, or I might turn out to be Italian after all."

"Oh, yes, John, right." She summoned her thoughts. "John, he's pretty messed up right now."

"Where do you know that from?"

"Oh, I have my sources."

"Don't even try to pretend, I could see the signs all along." Sherlock stated matter-o-factly.

"Signs? What signs?"

"You're a stalker, a fanatic. And a pretty excessive one too."

"I-I'm not."Molly tried to say self-confidently, but soon went back to stuttering.

"Shush. You should know it better than I do." Sherlock grinned despite himself, not able to ignore his little triumph. "Nonetheless, what's the matter with John?"

"John? He's been completely and finally thrown out by his family now and denied any access to his children, so he feels pretty distressed at the moment and you know, that whole affair with you has kinda shaken him up. He still keeps his gun with him anywhere he goes and I fear he might actually- use it one time."

"Does he? Why should this bother you that much?"

"I thought you'd be one to be bothered." Molly said a little confused. "Or aren't you?"

* * *

"Oh- hello, Sherlock. Erm... the situation is not quite fit."

"It must be, Mycroft. I have something of great concern to ask you, I need your advice."

Mycroft kept silent.

"Please?"Sherlock nagged the voice box on the door.

Mycroft was persistent.

"Can't I come in? I won't bug you about your chubby cheeks ever again, I promise. I won't even mention the diet, just please- let me in."

"Alright, I'll open the door. You better keep that promise."

* * *

"Hello, brother dear. How are we today?"

"As if you would mind." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes and then letting them fall at his brother's fancy yet dishevelled pyjamas.

"I do. I worry about you, constantly."

Sherlock merely laughed sarcastically and then closed the door behind him, the coldness of the situation evident, even to him. "How long are you going to play this game?"

"What game?"

"Don't even bother."

* * *

John was hopeless, to say the least. This whole situation was nothing more than complete and utter crap, and to topple it he had nowhere to turn to. He could take his old flat by the lake, but what use would that be to him?

Would it change anything?

John sighed wholeheartedly, it was better than nothing. Even though it made John feel cold inside, cold and detached. The flat was lifeless; there were no decorations whatsoever and no people either. All it was, was cold and empty. It drained John out.

He would, for the sake of staying alive, end his holiday now and venture into his job again. At least he would have something to keep himself busy then.

Naturally, he had thought about taking this whole thing to court. However, he was short on money and lacked energy and time. Especially energy.

Sarah would win anyway, why even try?

The worst thing about this was that all the things Sarah said had held the truth. John couldn't lie to himself. He had been a bad father and an even worse husband. And he could do nothing to make up for it.

Thank heavens he wasn't a drug addict.

* * *

Mycroft laughed reluctantly. "What are you talking about?"

"You know it exactly." Sherlock nodded. "And your cupboard must know it as well."

"My cupboard?"

"Yes, your cupboard. Let's open it, shall we?"

Out of the closet fell a 3/4 naked Gregory Lestrade, tugging tight to the last bit of dignity he still possessed, this time in form of a piece of clothing. A very naughty piece of clothing.

"Ooh. Uh, you meant that." Mycroft's ears changed colours. "I had almost forgotten."

"Aha, had you now?" Sherlock grinned smugly. "Doesn't look too much like it."

* * *

"Now that we have all of this sorted, let's get back to business, shall we?" Mycroft said, now being wholly clothed, self-esteem running low. "What did you want to know?"

"Alright. It's a pity I have to ask for your help, but it's better than nothing."

"That's probably the nicest thing you have ever said to me. Aren't we lovely brothers?"

"Almost without blemish." Sherlock laughed. "Anyhow, it's about John."

"Am I here to talk about love matters with you?"

"Yes-no. Not exactly. I wanted you to keep an eye on John."

"Love matters. Definitely."

Sherlock held on tight to his scarf, taking it to his nose to smell John's scent. "Perhaps."


	17. Chapter 17: Christmas time, bitches

**Disclaimer: Don't own, boooyah! **

**Aww... It's Christmas everybody! Hooray! Don't forget to bring your mildy off-seting Christmas hats and jumpers to the big Internet Christmas party that we're staring right here, right now! Wheeeee! **

**I love you all so much and wish you a wonderful Christmas time, that should under no circumstances be spent reading Fanfiction, my dear children. **

**Anyway, enjoy yourselves and have a lovely time. I wouldn't want you to be short on presents. :D**

* * *

"Nonetheless, that's not completely _it_." Sherlock muttered, trying to avoid Mycroft's brotherly know-it-all gaze.

"What do you mean by 'it'?"

"_It_'s rather complicated."

* * *

John took a deep breath before entering the large building, the stench of disinfection fluids capturing his mood. Sterile.

What was he doing here again?

Right, he was about to end his vacation. He should at least try to make an effort at a realistic reason for coming back, but not give too much away. But most importantly, he should try to avoid Sarah as best as he could.

That wouldn't be excessively difficult in the first two weeks, since she would still be at home. Nonetheless the world would be another place when she returned.

The world would be another place entirely too if another person would return into John's life. But for whole other reasons.

No, don't. It was only wasted time.

* * *

"So, John, what's brought you here so early?"

"You know, we had some trouble- financing all the presents. I wanted to go back so we had a bit more cash."

"You sure?" His chef asked, trying and failing at ignoring the facts that Sarah and John were one of his top doctors and that it was simply impossible for them to be short on money. Even if you had the whole Kardashian family to feed with gifts.

"Yes." John murmured.

"Alright." An eyebrow was raised. "So, how are things going with your children? Did they at least enjoy your tremendously expensive gifts?"

"Sure, they did." Was John's short-cut answer. This was horrible. He should have given it some deeper thought before doing this.

However, to his defence, he had one deeply important reason for this. Or not, if staying alive doesn't count as your minor reason for doing things.

Your every move is guided by it. And everything adds up to it. Anything you do is for this mere reason. Staying alive.

John shook his head, shit was getting deep.

* * *

"So, you say I should help you with this crap?"

"I wouldn't exactly qualify it as _crap_-"

"It is the epitome of crap, Sherlock. Think about it, would John really want you back?"

"I don't know."

"See? And anyway, he would surely have tried to get in touch with you somehow, after hearing that speech."

"Maybe he just hasn't seen it?"

"How likely is that? Statistically the whole of England has seen it."

"I haven't."

"Yes, that's because you were in it, Sherlock. Use that brain of yours." Mycroft sneered. "However, if you really want me to help you set this up- I will."

"Really? Would you do that for me?"

"Surely, but you have to say the magic word."

"What word? Please or-"

"That will do."

* * *

John had a look around his working place again, trying to get into the moment. Into the feeling this place had always given him when he had needed it the most.

But it simply didn't want to work.

He had had to spend Christmas all alone. It had hurt, but not that much for him to spend his time at Harry's. Her house was a place anyone could get depressed in.

He still had the gun.

No, don't even dare to think about it. No, he was not going to do that. There was still some hope. There always was and there always would be.

John calmed down slightly, wishing it all away. Surely this would not end in shit. There was no other way. For him.

"John Watson, there's someone here for you." A nurse said stretching out her hand in John's direction, the telephone swiftly accepted.

"Hello, who's there?"


	18. Chapter 18: songs of belly-shaped pasta

**Disclaimer: Girl, look at them beards, girl look at them beards, they-they-they work out.**

**Sorry, have just watched 'The Hobbit' for the second time and was like dayum beards are hawt. I know this isn't the sense of disclaimers, but hey! Since when does anyone take disclaimers seriously? **

**So, I'm sorry for another rather long wait, but this time I have a good reason behind it. I had written all of this already yesterday evening and then the freakin' computer goes wooooosh and everything is gone. I was so frustrated, I burried myself under my blankets and didn't do much more than tumble through the night. I'm sorry. (I was so close to simply delete my FanFiction-account and lie in a corner to cry and shiver all night long, so tumblr is by far the better alternative) **

**Please, please, please do enjoy and leave your thoughts in that silly box down there. I would appreciate it very much. **

**Now that I am in good spirits again, I wish you a wonderful day and a merry party/dancey-dance-time!**

**(I had to say good-bye to the 11th Doctor, so there we go. :D I hope you don't/ won't mind.)**

* * *

"Ever heard of a Mycroft Hol-?"

"Uh, Sherlock mentioned him once, I guess. Seems he's enjoyed himself one time throwing a cake at that Mycroft-fella's face." John grinned through the phone sentimentally. "Why're you asking?"

"Well, erm..." The voice on the other side paused for a while.

"Oh, don't tell me you're Mycroft, that would just be too funny." John sniggered. "Interesting name for a bloke though; Mycroft is even worse than Sherlock and Sherlock's already a pretty shitty name."

"Actually..."

"My-croft- Myyyyyycroft-Microsoft- haha-." John snorted. "I should buy the rights for that name... Dat name." John laughed.

"Right... Would it change your plans if I were to say that Mycroft Holmes _is _my proper name?"

"You're kidding me." John grunted in pleasure, but that state of pure ecstasy soon fell for another less pleasing feeling. "Or- aren't you?"

"I am not." Mycroft inhaled disdainfully. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I have made up my mind about this situation, I will no longer be of essence here."

"No, no, no, wait!" John's breath faltered. "Does that mean- you're Sherlock's brother?"

"Yes and no."

"What?"

"I am Sherlock's brother, but will under no condition wait for _you_." Mycroft cupped the phone with his hands, so that no single sound could be exchanged through the line. "Are you sure that Watson's the person we're looking for?"

"Yes, one hundred percent accurate."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows in sheer repugnance. "If that's your wish, then your wish it may be."

Mycroft turned his attention back to John reluctantly. "I will wait- if I have to."

"Good." John released a sigh of relief. "-what'd you phone me for anyway? My shift's starting soon."

"It's about my brother."

"Oh my god, yes, I had almost forgotten." John stuttered hurriedly. "How is he?"

Mycroft could barely resist the urge to simply turn around and ask the man himself, but that would destroy the perfect scenario and make his brother less the smug bastard he usually was. If that really were bad was another question entirely.

"He's- fine, I guess. As fine as he can be."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, since he's the reason I am calling you, there must be a reason behind you being the reason for his unreasonable unhappiness."

"Say that again?"

Mycroft sighed. "Forget that. I just want to find out what's troubling him so much and then be done with it, right? He's getting a bit annoying, that's that."

Sherlock scoffed, the penetrating sound finding its way into Mycroft's ears from the sofa.

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

John Watson was not quite sure whether or not he had made the right decision in being here, but it was too late now anyway. He couldn't run anymore, Mycroft Holmes would most likely be just around the corner. And John really didn't want to run into an upset Mycroft, whoever that man may be, he didn't sound too amiable.

Despite that, he did this for Sherlock. For their chance, no matter whether it had already passed.

John squirmed nervously in his seat, the pub suddenly way too densely populated, the walls seeming to come closer to John than he had ever wished for. He wasn't a wall-o-philic.

He should have given this more intense thought, what sense did it make to speak to his target's brother? Stupidity had never been so much of him, so why now?

Because of him, Sherlock. Because he wouldn't let any chance pass, however hopeless.

Sherlock had been the sole content of his mind the last days and nothing in him was weak enough to pretend to still protest. His heart in the least. It was filled up by Sherlock.

In some aspects it worried him nonetheless, wasn't he supposed to think of Mary and his children? Wasn't he supposed to be concerned about that? His marriage and family was breaking apart and John could merely think of a man he couldn't reach.

Fair play to you, John Watson, you know nothing of real life.

John raised his eyebrows as a stranger raised two glasses of scotch in his direction. "Erm- are you-is that for me?"

His opposite nodded, seating himself directly next to John. Straightening his bowtie he said: "Well, perhaps I should mention it; I'm Mycroft Holmes, you know, that brother there."

John's eyebrows regathered their old posture. "You sure about that?"

"Thank heavens, no." The man grinned cheekily, only to spit out his drink seconds later. "Golly, what in the name of Stormaggedon is this stuff? They don't even have straws or these silly umbrellas on the sticks, what are they called again-?"

"No idea." John shook his head, perplexed by the strangely-chinned, eyebrow-less man with suspenders. "Who are you exactly?"

"Oh, they always ask that question. To you I'm just an old madman with a box." He smiled sentimentally. "But I gotta dash now; I'm late, as always. She's going to be furious. "

"But-Old? Who's she?"

"You'd think that by having a time machine you'd be spot on, but no-." He rambled away. "Amy's really going to be mad this time-"

"Can you _please_ answer my questions?" John said, turning a bit furious himself.

"And tell Mycroft, will you?"

"Tell him _what_?"

"He's left the custard in the shed by the lake. And I will not hand him back his umbrellas until I had some good old fish fingers and custard, thank you very much. Now, it's been very nice to make your acquaintance, I hope you have a wonderful evening."

"But-."

"Shh!" The odd man put his finger in front of his lips.

John suddenly shut up entirely, a strange force forcing him to cease speaking.

"Now, that's better." He rubbed his hands. "Works every time. Now, where's my sonic- ahh there!"

He grinned crookedly one last time. "Geronimo!"

And then he was gone, in the blink of an eye. If John had merely sneezed, he would surely have missed everything.

"Goodbye, raggedy man." He muttered, not entirely aware of the reason and source of the sentence, but it didn't matter. He knew they had a reason, most likely a very long tale to tell.

"Am I right with the assumption that you are-John Watson?" A pair of gloves was undone.

"What? Yes, no, what?" John exclaimed, slightly confused. Hadn't he just spoken to- Oh, he shouldn't have seen that episode of Doctor Who the other day. How could he have fallen asleep so easily, in the middle of a crowd? Had somebody noticed?

But well, dreaming of the Doctor never got old, and so didn't bowties. Coz they're cool.

John grinned to himself maniacally, the fangirl in him dawning.

"If you're done daydreaming, could we please get back to business?" The other man sighed, as John nodded slowly in an intimidated fashion. "Thank you. Seems I was right, Sherlock couldn't- with a normal person."

"What was that again?"

"Oh, nothing of your concern, rather of mine." He took out his agenda. "Chances are that you'll be my brother-in-law soon, so we better get on."

He smiled feignedly, all the while stretching out his hand into John's direction. "Hello, I am Mycroft Holmes, nice to meet you."

"What? - my brother-in-law? Does that mean- but that's completely impossible!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say so." A real smile spread over his face as he turned around in his chair. "Would you brother dear?"


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Don't own... If only I were paid for all the disclaimers I had to write, I'd be a millionaire by now. And then I'd buy Sherlock and taunt you all with it, yay! Good plan. Someone want to pay me? :

Haha, hello everybody! Welcome to another, very short chapter that I hope you will all enjoy. After all one of my reasons for writing is to make people happy, so I'd be very glad if that were the case. Please tell me if it is ;D

Have fun, dance,whatever. I don't care what you do as long as you enjoy yourself. :-D

* * *

"- would you brother dear?" Mycroft huffed."Sherlock?"

"Yes-yes, what is it?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You have just spoiled my moment."

"What-what moment?" Sherlock uttered confusedly, still not quite in the moment.

"My moment-" Mycroft sighed. "This is of no use. Let's just get done with it."

John stared at the two brothers, his mouth wide open. "What, you? But- what is Sherlock doing here?"

"Me? I'm merely the decoration." Sherlock said. "Oh, I've said that before haven't I?"

"You tend to repeat yourself brother." Mycroft smiled. "Welcome to our little party."

"I wouldn't exactly qualify it as a party, but-" John smirked to himself. "- I wouldn't want to upset the head of the government."

"You learn quickly, my boy." Mycroft grinned in reply. "You should have been my brother, we would have got along perfectly well-."

"In contrary to us, you may add." Sherlock smiled sadly. "Anyway, brother, could you please-."

"Oh, the sooner the better." Mycroft smiled, turning to John. "Take care of him, will you? Please. Please, don't hurt him." His voice turned soft and quiet.

John nodded curtly, seeing the situation to come with mixed feelings. What was going to happen now? Something was in the air- something would change. But it wasn't quite evident yet whether it would turn out to be something good.

He gulped. "Sherlock- you must see that-"

"I don't have to see anything." Sherlock replied. "You have."

Sherlock's eyes locked with John's in a deep gaze. "Do you understand? This can't go on like this."

"What do you mean by 'this'?" John said, a knot in his throat forming.

"Us- we have to-" Sherlock smiled a shy smile. "-get our shit together."

John's mouth twitched up a bit. "D' you think? We could just carry on and pretend nothing has happened-"

"That's the thing, something has already happened, John. And I can't pretend anymore. Not in front of the stupid cameras, not in front of the presenters, nor in front of my brother. And especially not in front of you. There's no use in hiding-"

"I see." John smiled. "You see-I- hope, maybe-."

"What, maybe? Don't say maybe John, everybody else does. You're not everybody else- you're better, you're special- please, just say what it is. You can tell me you hate me and walk out of the door, it wouldn't hurt as much as maybe."

"You've become a right poet in the last days, haven't you?" John grinned.

"I'm a songwriter, John, it's my job." Sherlock sighed. "Can you please just tell me what you feel and then go? You will walk away anyway, there's no use in staying here, with me."

"That's not actually going to happen, Sherlock." John huffed sassily. "You should know me better than that." John paused as he took Sherlock's hand in his. "And you should know something else first. Do you want to know the good news or the bad news first?"

Sherlock shrugged. "The good news, I s'ppose."

"Sherlock Holmes, I- John Hamish Watson-"

"Oh, just get on with it." Sherlock scoffed.

John giggled. "- I love you, Sherlock. And I don't ever want to be apart from you again, understood?"

Sherlock murmured soft sounds of approval as he laid his arms around John, breathing in his calming scent. "And what is the bad news?"

"I love Sherlock Holmes, how stupid is that?"

Sherlock chuckled heartily. "Always the charmer, John. Now get these lips of yours over here." Sherlock pointed at his own."-because you know what?"

"What?"

"Surprisingly, I love you too."

And then they melted into a kiss that should not be broken for a very long time. In fact, in this very moment, it felt like forever.


	20. Chapter 20: I'm an Ood, oodly enough

Disclaimer: Have you bloody seen the last episode? It's so amazing I cannot fucking put it into words aghhhhh... oh, BTW I don't own it.

Here we go with another chapter hooray! (The episode was so gorgeous and gay, ugh) I hope you're all going to like the next one, I'm still deciding whether or not it shall be the last one, it's like an inner fight.

Anyway, if I decide that this shall be the last chapter after all, then I am very sad, but also happy. It has been a great pleasure to write this crap and I hope it was to you too.

Please leave me your honest thoughts about this little story,I'd be very pleased and the whole world would suddenly be season 3 and reindeers in funny little hat. If you want that transformation then work for it. ;D

Pityfully, I have to go now but I bid you all a very awesome day that will be spent with counting Sherlock-feels. See ya!

(HAVE I SAID YET THAT SHERLOCK WAS BLOODY AWESOME? YES? WELL, FUCK IT IT WAS INGENIOUS ,DEAL WITH IT)

* * *

"You awake?"

John grunted disapprovingly.

"Oh, don't even try. You are - taken from your breathing pattern, your movements and-"

"Oh, shut up, Sherlock." John grinned sleepily. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Well- 4 hours."

"4 hours? Sherlock look at me." John demanded.

Sherlock turned around in their bed, facing John through the covers. "Yes, what is it?"

"You really slept 4 hours? Only 4?"

"Yes, well-" Sherlock suffered under John's chastising look. "Maybe a bit less..."

"And what may I count as 'a bit less'?" John asked, grinning at Sherlock.

"Ugh- god, you know. We have that interview today and it's the first time we're publically together, so-"

"Oh, don't tell me you're nervous, are you?" John blinked at Sherlock. "Are you?"

"Perhaps a bit." Sherlock blushed. "You're not making it better."

"You couldn't sleep, because you were nervous?"

"Well, everybody's human after all-" He sighed, his blush deepening. "Even me."

"Aww- that's just too cute." John pinched Sherlock in the nose. "I wouldn't ever have thought-"

"You're not making it better." Sherlock tried to gulp away the embarrassment. Didn't work.

"You're such a moron." John giggled. "You know, I'd have something in mind to make it better."

"Would you?" Sherlock raised his left eyebrow. "Show me."

John smirked. "Never anything else." John rolled himself on top of Sherlock, lingering there like a tiger, the hunger visible on his face. "Watch closely."

"Are you serious- it's barely 9 in the morning and you have already-?" Mycroft scoffed.

"Deal with it, bro." Sherlock said coolly and then smirked smugly. "Look at yourself and Greg, you're not an inch better."

"Pfff..."

"This morning, was it? Beat you at your own game."

Mycroft grimaced.

"Now, excuse you, but we really have to go." Sherlock waved at a grim Mycroft. "La'ers."

"Oh- and you've got a ketchup stain." John pointed at Mycroft's belly. "Right there. Might want to go and fix it."

"Greg would surely not approve." Sherlock yelled after Mycroft, soon leaving, John in pack and in hand.

This was going to be horrible. Sherlock had found himself a boyfriend and naturally that boyfriend had to be an equivalent pain in the arse. Mycroft straightened his tie.

He could imagine the Christmas Dinners.

"That one- or rather that?" The assistant said, her arms full with fitting trousers for John's suit. "This one goes better with your complexion-."

"If you would give us a moment, please, alone." Sherlock said, nodding at the assistant. "I think we can manage further without your help."

John nodded persistently.

"Alright, if that's your wish, then your wish it may be. The customer is our king." She waddled away, happy about the fact that she didn't have to work more than necessary.

"Phew." John grinned. "That's better."

"Definitely." Sherlock paused to think. "Do you trust me on this, John?"

"Trust you? Of course I do- why'd you ask?"

"I think I found the perfect suit for you by myself- I hope you don't mind."

"The faster I get out of here the better." John said, looking out for mentioned suit. "Where is it?"

"There's one problem with it though, it might be a bit tight."

Sherlock held tight onto John's hand as they entered the stage with a warm welcome. The crowd continued cheering as the both of them seated themselves, John sitting closely next to Sherlock.

"So- this is your coming-out party, isn't it?" The host cheered, his grey-ish hair jumping up and down in excitement. "Come on, they deserve some applause."

The audience laughed and cheered, but this time Sherlock didn't feel intimidated by it. This time it felt so right, just as if he had earned it. This time John was by his side.

"You could call it that." Sherlock chuckled lowly. "But it's more of a coming-out party for him than for me."

Sherlock nodded in John's direction, their hands entwining again. "Even my parents don't know yet that I'm gay, so cheerio."

"They don't?" Sherlock asked his face a bit dampened by worry for his partner.

"They do now. And I don't care if they don't approve of it, I'm here now. Here, and there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

Sherlock gave John a warm look and a squeeze before returning his attention back to Graham. "So- what did you want to say?"

"How did you two even meet? It's not easy to pick up Sherlock Holmes."

John laughed. "It began with a cup of tea, which lead to us being in a mall and doing the stupidest of things-"

"Although nothing tops you walking around in nothing but a ski-"

John kicked Sherlock. "Don't you dare-"

"You didn't look too bad though, in the ski- well. That's probably when I noticed there was something about you."

"Oh god. I must have made a terrible first impression."

"No, you didn't- it was my idea after all." Sherlock smirked. "And I was able to see your wonderfully muscular legs for the first of so many times, so-"

"Oh, you make me jealous." The host smirked. "We should have an award for the cutest couple of the year you two would definitely win it."

"I wouldn't say so, would you?"

Sherlock didn't take long to decide. "I would, John, although- there are other things we are so much better at. So much better-" Sherlock growled, as John tried to find out what air was. He could answer the question as to where it was easily, not in his lunges.

And his blood seemed to wander off somewhere else as well. What a massive impact a few tiny words out of Sherlock's mouth could have.

"I should have listened to you." John whispered.

"What, why?"

"These jeans are offly tight. One more word and things are gonna get messy. And by messy I mean really messy."

"Don't challenge me."

The minute Sherlock and John were off the stage, John urged Sherlock against the wall. His mouth capturing Sherlock's fiercely, his hands all over the place. "Don't you ever dare do that again!"

"I can guarantee nothing."

"You two, get a room." Their host said, grinning. "Or take the one-"

"Where?" Growled John.

"Just around the corner and then left, two stairs up. Take care, will you?"

"I can guarantee nothing."


End file.
